Lotus Leaves
by Princess-Arulmozhi
Summary: ...The ideal Jedi is supposed to know what emotions are, yet to able to deflect their onslaught, and do what is required, in any given situation.' Jedi Master QuiGon Jinn. JA timeline.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** There was this bunny that bit really hard…..and wouldn't let go until I put fingers to keyboard and tapped it all out. Thanks to all who've been reviewing my vigs. This one's for you. On a positive note: it's also complete. :)

**Lotus-leaves **

I

The tall, brown-cloaked figure moved at a leisurely pace along the narrow corridor, pausing once or twice to gaze at the murals that decorated the walls of the Master-Padawan residential floors. Walking with measured steps, it passed various numbered doorways until it came to the last but one - and stopped. Placing a large hand on the control panel, it manoeuvred the workings slightly, whereupon the door swished open gently.

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn stepped into the quarters he shared with his apprentice, and stood still for a moment, breathing deeply. The common area was as neat as could be expected of two Jedi residing in it - one of whom, for the past month, had been involved in an assignment under the tutelage of the Chief Archivist of the Jedi Temple, and another who had spent the chief of that period on a mission that seemed to prolong its existence for an eternity. In other words, it looked relatively neat, and comfortable.

Resisting a temptation to sink down into the coach that stood to one side of the room, Qui-Gon scanned the quarters...ah, yes. His apprentice - all of twenty-three cycles - was in the cooking-area, and judging by the mixture of smells emanating from there, it appeared that he was preparing last meal. Unwrapping his cloak and placing it on the arm of the couch, the master moved towards the entrance to the cooking-area. Once there, he espied his padawan engaged in stirring something on the heating-unit - and paused.

It had been many weeks since the master had had the leisure to indulge in something as simple as watching his apprentice go about his duties - both had been much too involved in Temple affairs to spare much time for such activities, lately. Under the circumstances, it was advisable to utilise whatever opportunity that presented itself, and derive as much pleasure as he could, from watching a slightly unwieldy padawan pick his way around the cooking-area - and he seemed particularly awkward this evening.

Qui-Gon positioned himself slightly to the side of the entrance, at a vantage point from which he could see into the kitchenette - his apprentice's view, however, was blocked. Masking his Force presence accomplished the desired result - and, assisted by a few delicate probes of the Force, he watched Obi-Wan break a couple of _welnet_ cubes over the vessel, and stir it laboriously. The resultant fragrance made Qui-Gon want to walk over and sample it at once - he had had not food since First meal - but he hesitated, watching, as his padawan stood looking into the vessel, frowning.

Strange. Obi-Wan had never really relished cooking duties in the early years of his apprenticeship; later, however, his master's taste for culinary activities seemed to have rubbed off on him, and the padawan delighted in preparing occasional meals. The last four weeks had seen Qui-Gon flitting in and out of their quarters on his mission - he had not had much time to observe changes, if any. He watched for a while longer, as Obi-Wan placed another utensil on the adjacent heating unit, poured a quantity of cooking oil in it, stared off into space, his attention obviously elsewhere - and spent the next few minutes in hunting for something frantically.

Qui-Gon watched, quizzically, as Obi-Wan probed through the shelves underneath and those above the heating unit in a desperate search - and decided that enough was enough.

"You've just poured the _belie_ oil into the vessel, Obi-Wan," he murmured as he walked in, picked up the container and deposited it back on the shelf - considerably startling his apprentice, in the process.

"Master?" Obi-Wan moved away from the counter, his eyes a mixture of eagerness, surprise - and delight. "You're back early."

"As you see." Qui-Gon bent over the vessel and scrutinized the concoction bubbling away cheerily. "This - whatever this is - seems to be appetizing, padawan." He turned. "And don't use any more _belie_ than necessary - it ruins the taste."

Obi-Wan's face turned a delicate shade of pink as he rubbed his hands on a soft cloth. "I won't. I just..." He waved a hand, and a shelf-door sprung open. "Forgot that I _had_ added it." Before his master could continue, he forged ahead. "But I didn't sense you coming in," he directed a look of mock anger. "Is it - can it be possible that you were spying on me?"

"Two doses of _belie_ oil constitutes a great crime, padawan mine," Qui-Gon commented solemnly. "I wished to see what further catastrophe you would commit." His eyes twinkled. Obi-Wan's smile, he noted, was rather absent-minded.

"How did the negotiations go?" Obi-Wan asked, turning away to replace the various containers he had pulled out to aid him in the cooking process.

"As well as can be expected, considering previous history existing between the Calains and the lesser - as they call their cousins - beings," Qui-Gon remarked. "It went the way of all negotiations...and has ended in a satisfactory manner - for the present."

Obi-Wan shut the shelf-doors with a snap of the Force - hoping that Qui-Gon would not administer a small lecture on 'frivolous uses of the Force'. "I'm glad. This mission has been - taxing, for you."

"Quite so." He paused, watching as Obi-Wan washed and dried a couple of plates - and his eyes noted a tell-tale tremble. "And what of your own assignment?"

"Also ended, for the time being," Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "We found the ancient readings after weeks of search - not to mention frequent expeditions to Chandren, hunting for long-forgotten scrolls. But it was accomplished. Archivist T'shar was - content. Master Yoda acknowledged himself satisfied, at any rate. It means a great deal to him - and a few others, I think."

"Which was why they required your assistance, in the first place. I would not have agreed to-er-lend you for anything less," Qui-Gon smiled. "However, padawan mine...your work seems to have taken its toll on you."

Obi-Wan paused in the midst of drying. "Not really, master. I'm quite all right." He began rinsing the plates. "You saw me last week - what could be wrong with me?"

"Nothing, I hope. For that very reason, padawan...I wonder why you must needs rinse and dry our plates three times," the master spoke gently. Obi-Wan stopped at once and looked down at his hands, as though suddenly aware of what he had been doing.

"Three times?"

"You were beginning on the fourth, if I was not mistaken."

"Oh."

"Yes."

Obi-wan placed the plates on the counter gently, wiping his hands. "I'm afraid I wasn't very focussed, then," he said, his mouth curving into a tentative smile. "Possibly because I was anticipating your arrival."

"While that is a flattering response..." Qui-Gon folded his arms and stood looking down at his slender apprentice who, now that the plates had been thoroughly cleaned, seemed at a loss for something to do. "You're not well, young one."

Obi-Wan's smile broadened, but the master noticed that the young man did not raise his eyes. "I'm perfectly fit, master - it's been more than two months since I last visited the Healer's," he chuckled.

Qui-Gon smiled in turn. "A blow for them, I think. And yet, padawan..." The master changed the subject abruptly. "I have not had the pleasure of knowing Archivist T'shar - aside from a few introductory moments before I left for Calai. How did you find her?"

Obi-Wan appeared to be surprised at the question. Darting a swift, appraising look at the master, he spoke. "Competent. Efficient. She is, after all Madame Nu's replacement, and hand-picked by her...she takes her role as Chief Archivist - even if it is for a limited period - very seriously." He paused, remembering, as it were, to arrange the dishes on the table in the common area. "She did, after all, want to work in the Temple Archives."

"Did she?" The master had followed Obi-Wan into the room.

Obi-Wan quirked an eye-brow. "That's certainly what I understood. I believe she was chosen at twelve, and trained by Master Shante as his padawan - but was soon transferred to the Archives section, at her request, as well as her master's." He shook his head slightly. "I confess I don't concur with her wish to become an Archivist...but then, I don't think she understands my need to be - ah - 'gallivanting' around the galaxy on perpetual missions."

Qui-Gon smiled, as he settled himself in a chair. "You sound as though you were repeating the words of someone else - Archivist T'shar's?"

"Of course. When one is forced to spend time in the company of another..." He threw a mischievous smile at Qui-Gon, as the latter helped himself to liberal servings of _welnet_ stew, "...One is forced to learn certain things about him or her."

"If you will insist on indulging me, Obi-Wan, then I shall be forced to take advantage of your culinary excesses," commented the master. "Any messages for me, in the meantime?"

"Three - and all from His Majesty, the Most illustrious King Bjede Zor, Ruler of the Most Beautiful Scaltia, High-Keeper of the Seven Cavern-Crystals of Cratza, Count of - "

"Enough, padawan. The substance of those messages?"

"The substance of the previous five, master. He still believes himself to be under some sort of debt to us - the one which he claims is unpaid after the assassination attempt on him that we foiled six months ago...and he wishes to cancel it with a week of royal-ah-hospitality on Scaltia."

"Such perseverance, padawan," said Qui-Gon, as he scooped the last of the stew off his plate, noting simultaneously that the apprentice's plate was almost untouched. "You could take a few lessons from him."

"I can do without knowing how to make myself a pest, thank you," Obi-Wan grimaced as he poked the stew with his spoon. "Of course, the King means well, and I sense his gratitude..."

"Now that you've fulfilled your assignment, is there anything else that should keep you at the Temple?"

Obi-Wan frowned. "I've completed the second-level initiates training sabre sessions, and my work on Advanced Geological Variations of Senueran Plains - " he smiled at Qui-Gon's wry look " - is done. No, I don't believe I've anything to keep me at the Temple." He looked up suddenly. "Why?"

"Pack what you will need for a week - we're leaving on a mission."

* * *

_tbc..._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to all those reviewed. Love ya!**

**ShalBrenfan**: Er…I should have put in a note or something: this story's takes place in the 'Jedi Apprentice' timeline' – which means it's before the 'Phantom Menace' movie. :) No Anakin in it, sorry.

**Killer Goldfish**: You'll know, soon. :)

**amber75**: Update – now…and thanks for reading!

**Szhismine, The dancing Cavalier**: You'll know more soon:)

**LuvEwan**: That is really sweet of you. hugs Thank you, my dear.

**Little One:** Yep…you get to relive it all over again :). Here's the next

**NuEvil**: he hasn't been there in ages – how depressing grin

**Estel Baggins**: Welcome…and thanks for reading!

**Lady Ivy Castillo**: Wow. My thanks to your daughter. I hope you'll enjoy the ride. :)

**And now…a very short post. **

**II**

/_If this is an attempt to initiate me into some obscure mind-reading technique, master, I'm yet to see the point of it._ / Obi-Wan murmured through their bond, as they walked off the Royal Scaltian shuttle hangar—of truly impressive dimensions. Armed humanoid guards flanked them, providing what Obi-Wan thought quite unnecessary escort, leading them to the transport that would take them to the Scaltian Royal Palace.

Qui-Gon appeared to be immersed in the sight of a rich azure blue sky, tinged with streaks of rose and yellow. /_Mind-reading, Obi-Wan?_/

/_Why this acceptance of King Zor's Royal invite, under the cloak of a 'mysterious mission'?_/

/_Mind-reading may be a skill you've cultivated—but patience seems to elude you._/

/_Is that the point you're trying to make?_/ They had reached their Royal transport—a sleek, blue and gold ground car that seemed to be furnished on the inside with cushions tinged a rich mauve - trimmed with gold. Obi-Wan was used to finery, by now - yet, he could not resist blinking at this display.

His musings were disrupted by a voice in his head. /_Considering you've been my padawan learner for years, and in a position to know my thinking processes—you ought to know._/

/_You relish taunting me. And the guards have been darting suspicious looks at each other ever since we landed. After all, we haven't spoken a word since we stepped off the shuttle._/

/_I believe they think we might be dumb._/

/_Ah. **That** was the point you wished to make._/

/_Insolent, are you?_/

/_Perhaps._/

Qui-Gon frowned, his fingers toying with his beard in a gesture of thoughtfulness. /_I've nourished a Tatooine sand-viper all these years._/

Obi-Wan sank back onto the cushions, and grinned.

* * *

_tbc..._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **

**Lady Ivy Castillo**: Thank you, Lady IC. Glad that you dropped in, and that you think so well about my work. :)  
**amber75**: LOL, Thanks!  
**PadawanKitara**: PK! So glad that you're here! –waves-  
**A. NuEvil**: no, I wasn't joking – but here's a longer post. All updates in future will be really loooooooong. :)))  
**Katieelessar**: …and your wish has been granted. :) Thanks for dropping in.  
**szhismine**: Done!  
**Seven**: Ah, padawan! Glad that you're sticking with this one again. It's good to have you here. :)

* * *

**Note 2**: Sentences between / indicate conversations within a bond.

* * *

**III**

Scaltia—or, to be very precise, Scaltia's capital city, rather unimaginatively, thought Obi-Wan, named Scalti—seemed a fairly prosperous place, judging from what could be seen through the plexi-glass embrasures of the Royal ground-car. The padawan, after throwing a questioning glance at his mentor (who appeared to have fallen into a reverie), could not help sinking into the luxurious cushions, as he drank in the sights of the city.

A quick glance through information from the databanks of the Temple, prior to the start of their journey had provided him a few details regarding this rather out-of-the-way planet—namely, that they had chosen to arrive in the middle of the Season of Joy…the month that preceded the scorching, parched Months of the Sun. This was a time that was all too brief, for the Scaltians…a period of respite that offered relief from blazing heat, withering winds and general discomfort. The Season of Joy was known for its clear skies, comfortingly cool breezes, and a general upliftment of spirits. This was also the month during which crops were harvested, marking the end of a great deal of hard work—and the happiness was enhanced if the crops had been good, that year. Judging by the expression of Scaltian citizens milling about the streets, and signs of enjoyment, Obi-Wan came to the conclusion that it must have been a very good year, indeed.

Not that this explained by Master Jinn had chosen Scaltia for their brief vacation from Jedi duties—for that it was a vacation, Obi-Wan could no longer doubt. They had been assigned no mission—a fact that the apprentice had been able to wrangle of the reticent master; no planet required their absolutely immediate skills in negotiating/mediating/plunge-in-with-sabres assistance to stop a civil war/communal riot/general idiocy/massacre machinations, in recent times…and there had been King Zor's invitation. There was only one hitch in Obi-Wan's hitherto logical reasoning…the fact that Scaltia was blessed with a not-quite-so-salubrious climate. This might be the Season of Joy, and the skies might sparkle an azure blue…but the fact remained that Scalti would prove to be a furnace in the mid-mornings. And it was, he had noticed, not very well endowed with vegetation.

"It _is_ a mountainous country, yes," remarked Qui-Gon, suddenly rousing himself out of his stupor, and therefore jerking Obi-Wan to wakefulness from the half-dreamy state he had fallen into. "Nevertheless, Scaltia has it's merits."

Obi-Wan watched, with interest, what appeared to be a fair of sorts, in which certain exotically clad humanoid females appeared to be disporting themselves at the cost of considerable merriment to the crowd around them. What they were doing with several pots and ladles was anybody's guess. "Enlighten me, please."

"Scaltia's wealth is it's people."

"And ladles," remarked obi-Wan, his sight now obscured by the fact that they had passed the scene.

"Ladies?" Qui-Gon's brow rose.

"No, 'ladles." Obi-Wan chuckled, describing the scene he had seen earlier, while noting, on an aside, that their Royal escorts were looking at them in undisguised astonishment—due, probably, to the fact they were now actually talking without recourse to their bond.

"Ah, yes." Qui-Gon relaxed in the seats, eyes gleaming, long legs crossed at the ankles. "For a moment, I thought your attention had been drawn to…other things. " Obi-Wan snorted. "All masters learn to fear the symptoms of..." he paused. "What is generally called the 'Bane of er…Mastership.' "

"_Mastership_? Does the word even exist?"

"Certainly it does. I used it, didn't I? Learn to trust my judgement, young padawan."

"I do. It's your command over language that I'm doubtful about."

Upon which statement, Obi-Wan received a Force-thrown mauve cushion at his spiky hair—and which the padawan dodged, albeit with some surprise. It had been a long time since Qui-Gon had done away with the stern, cold-as-Hoth demeanour that he had adopted during Obi-Wan's younger days…but the feelings of obvious light-heartedness he was sensing through their bond were new, too. Abruptly, he realized what had been missing in the past weeks—a sense of camaraderie, the sheer exhilaration of being thrown into missions at neck-or-nothing pace…the feeling of togetherness. It occurred to him, (not for the first time) that Qui-Gon had missed his apprentice's presence at his side, during the recently concluded negotiations—it was not often that a Jedi master was sent on solo missions, especially when his padawan was of an age, and possessed enough experience to participate on such missions. Such things happened, nevertheless…and realization came to Obi-Wan, again, that he too had missed Qui-Gon's comforting presence during his weeks of scroll-searching on Chandren.

He sensed anew the feelings of relief, tinged with exhaustion emanating from his mentor, and pursed his lips in sympathy—an expression which changed as soon as he felt Qui-Gon's quizzical gaze on him.

"Sympathising with my plight, my young padawan?"

"No, master. I'm much too worried about my own, to sympathize with yours." The mauve cushion, after a careful scrutiny at the Royal guards (who had, by now, thoughtfully raised a screen that effectively isolated their cabins) was thrown back with equal fervour.

Fifteen standard minutes later, their escorts, after seeing the Jedi into the Royal Palace, would look inside the ground-car, and gape at the remarkable spectacle of mauve cushions, trimmed with gold - stuck to the roof.

A large Dining-hall of truly impressive dimensions, enhanced by strategically placed mirrors, and a vast, mural-infested ceiling. Cool breezes. Huge window embrasures that showed a beautiful view of the city they had just come through. Menials who stood around, waving elegant hand-held fans, in an attempt to control the heat. Through it all, Obi-Wan still felt stifled.

The fact was not aided by what was before him.

An impossibly large banquet table filled his eyes, both to the left and right. Large wooden dishes holding every delicacy known to the Scaltian palate filled his vision, and Obi-Wan sat in front of his plate, entranced and baffled in equal parts. A pink and brown confection lay in it, dammed by what appeared to be stiff pieces of an insect. A large one.

/_I sense the Living Force, master,_/ Obi-Wan looked at the plate carefully, a spoon in one hand.

To his left, Qui-Gon sat silently, submerged in equal contemplation of the food in front of him. /_Do you, now? Is it possible that Scaltia has taught you what I've failed to teach you, in all these years?_/

Obi-Wan frowned. /_I think my meal is alive. Strange. I had thought to learn the intricacies of the Living Force by meditation…I hardly expect to imbibe it by eating it._/

He sensed his master conceal a snort. /_Padawan mine, I doubt the Scaltians would usher us into a banquet, and subject us to such…cruelty. Besides, consider their motives regarding you._/

/_The road to a Sith-hell is paved with good intentions._/

They were roused to the present by a good-natured rumble that proceeded from the head of the table. Obi-Wan sighed.

All Scaltians, it seemed to Obi-Wan, were blessed with a deep pink complexion, small eyes that gleamed with good humour, and remarkably round bodies—which they appeared to use to amble their way towards anyone they wished to address. Certain females were exceptions to this rule, the padawan had noticed as they were shown into the impressive Throne Room on arrival, (with its high, vaulted ceiling and intricately carved _marbeil_ columns)—and predictably, they were not natives of Scalti, but of neighbouring provinces.

The monarch of Scaltia was no exception to this genetic rule. The Royal Court had convened in all its glory that day, in honour of the beginning of the Season and the arrival of the Jedi, and their welcome had been uproarious, by royal standards. Both master and apprentice had had their hands shaken, been bowed to, and embraced countless number of times (which, Obi-wan noticed with amusement, was borne by his master with pained Jedi stoicism—until he was subjected to the same treatment)—both by the monarch, the ever-enthusiastic King Zor, and his courtiers. An exhausting experience, which Obi-Wan chose to ignore by discreetly admiring his surroundings.

Before many minutes had passed, however, the padawan understood that a skinny figure was held in contempt by Scaltians—a sign of malnourishment, a disregard for the 'finer things in life'. His own master, built along impressive dimensions and possessing a height envied by the shorter Scaltians, had earned much respect and approval…Obi-wan had not been so fortunate. Hasty statements issued about his physique and Jedi training did nothing to protect him—King Zor's guests, especially the little Jedi, was sadly underfed, and this situation had to be speedily remedied.

The last prospect filled Obi-Wan with something akin to horror—as it appeared that the Scaltians had decided to nourish him using all the tools available.

Hence the groaning table, with food that apparently moved.

"Zu eat," recommended King Zor, in broken Basic, thereby favouring them with Royal courtesy—_Scal_ was, after all, the official language of its loyal citizens. "Goo foo, leetle Jedi."

Obi-wan controlled the laughter that threatened to overwhelm him, aided by Qui-Gon's stern gaze—their host was being extraordinarily kind to them, after all.

/_Obey the King, young one—it is their way of showing kindness._/

/_Forgive me, master._/

/_And you will restrain yourself._/

/_I couldn't possibly pack it up and eat it in our…ah…royal Chambers, could I?_/

/_Our light sabres are meant to be weapons used in self defence, young one._/

/_Your point, master?_/

/_I will not allow you to cook your meal with it. And certainly not in our guest quarters._/

/_Ah. So **you** think it's alive too._/

/_No, I do not. Merely half-cooked. Try the 'frata cake to your left. That should suit your palate._/

A burst of relief. /_Are you sure that isn't alive…? You are. In that case…_/ Obi-Wan picked up what appeared to be the Scaltian equivalent of a fork, and speared the pink substance.

/_Padawan?_/

/_Yes, Wise One?_/

/_The 'frata cake isn't alive. But your fork is._/

Jedi master Qui-Gon Jinn's ingenuity was greatly taxed during that meal, trying to explain to a puzzled King Zor about why his apprentice had chosen to emit an Unjedi-like gasp, break a crystal water-holder, crack two meal-plates, and knock a delicate _Cren_ vase—all in a matter of seconds.

* * *

_tbc..._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Next chapter's up. :)

**Katieelessar**: Wow, thanks. Glad you liked Scaltia so much – I enjoyed creating it too – that's the best part of an SW universe, isn't it? Even my word application recognizes it as a planet –grin-.  
**Seven is Me**: Ah, my padawan. Thank you. I will never forget that this story was the one that brought you into my sights :)  
**szhismine**: thanks. :)  
**Shadow (rachel)** : …and here's the next. :)  
**amber75**: LOL. You have so many descriptions of the perfect Obi – and he _is_ perfect – but I couldn't help seeing him through the eyes of a rather obese population. :)  
**Lady Ivy Castillo**: Ah, thank you, daughter. So glad you're enjoying this. :)  
**A. NuEvil**: Thanks! Figured you'd like this one. :)Yep, his fork is alive…and Qui is ever the diplomat. :)  
**ForsakenOn**: get ready for the ride. :)  
**ShalBrenfan**: I do actually have a couple of Anakin viggies… thanks. :)  
**Estel Baggins**: Wow. Thank you. Hope you continue to enjoy this. :)  
**Killer Goldfish**: Glad to see you back. :)Thanks.

A special thanks to **LE**, for her review on 'In the Eyes of the Beholder' – you're a sweet one, m'dear. :)

* * *

**IV**

Fortunately for Obi-Wan, their first meal with Scaltian Royalty did not end in complete and utter disaster. After the debris had been cleared and order more or less restored, Qui-Gon managed to impress upon their host that insectoid food was not particularly palatable to them, and they, especially his apprentice, would prefer something of the less exotic variety—until they had time to adjust themselves, and enjoy Scaltian delicacies. King Zor was nothing if not understanding, and accordingly made amends—and for this, both master and apprentice were extremely grateful.

They were then shown to their chambers by genial, if rather portly palace guards—a lavishly furnished room that seemed to be large enough to accommodate, if not half the Temple, at least a considerable part of it. On entrance, Obi-Wan had simply stood silently, taking in the richness of the tapestries on the walls, the crystal chandeliers that dazzled his eyes even in the bright light of day, and beds of truly stupendous dimensions (created keeping Scaltians in mind, probably)…technology seemed to be in abeyance, somewhat. Barring the mandatory control panel that was cleverly disguised as a modern provincial painting, there seemed to be no evidence that Scaltia was as developed a planet as any.

"I did say that Scaltia's wealth is its people," remarked Qui-Gon mildly, and Obi-Wan smiled. He had not been shielding—he rarely felt the need to do so, these days.

"I suppose they feel the need to use what is available, rather than resort to mechanizing everything," he commented, moving towards his master, who had elected to sink into one of the plush arm-chairs resting beside the beds. "It makes sense…especially for royalty." He flopped down on one of the beds, feeling suddenly exhausted. The airy light-heartedness that had buoyed him through the journey evaporated, and he felt as though he had run for miles in a parched desert. He threw a look at the riches surrounding him, and bit his lips. Anything farther from a desert, he could not see, at the moment. King Zor was providing what he had promised to—unlimited comfort, for as long as they chose.

And it puzzled him. Not King Zor's offer…but Qui-Gon's choosing to accept it. His master had a knack for adapting himself to any situation, but said situation nearly always involved a distressing lack of amenities. They neither of them had much leisure to throw their Jedi duties to the winds, and take off when they chose, to wherever they pleased…and though Qui-Gon had always seemed to know exactly when his padawan was at his best, and when he required rest…avid acceptance of such lavishness was surprising. For a master who relished abundant plant life and had simple tastes, Scaltia seemed rather out of place for a voluntary vacation—all professions of accepting gratitude aside.

What was he thinking…? Whatever he had accomplished, Qui-Gon was best known for his unique instincts…of doing what no conventional Jedi would think of doing. Was accepting a friendly invitation by Royalty such an unconventional thing to do?

_Why am I dwelling on this so much?_

Unnoticed by his apprentice, Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan stare at the richly carpeted floor, apparently lost in thought. Humour at the meal-table aside, he had noticed that the padawan had not really eaten much, instead electing to spend his time toying with his meal, looking at the dining-hall, and in politely answering broken-Basic questions put forth by their host.

As a padawan, his behaviour had been exactly what a Jedi master would wish. Not surprising—it had been drilled into him for years, after all.

As Obi-Wan Kenobi, however, this (occasionally) stubborn youngster meant more…much, much more to him than any single being in a remarkably insane galaxy (not that he chose to proclaim this fact to outsiders). That being so, his ward's emotions (and they _did_ exist) and vagaries affected him more than any other. A paternal instinct was most definitely not what Qui-Gon had wanted when the almost-thirteen year old had first become his apprentice…but it had become exactly that, and Qui-Gon had surprised himself when he understood that this was what he had wished for, years ago.

Strange, that the mind should wish for one thing and the heart another—still more strange that he, who always advocated 'feeling, instead of thinking', had fought desperately against such affection.

This conflict was now a thing of the past, however. He had long since reconciled himself to the fact, regardless of his maverick instincts (or perhaps, because of it), the Code, and the lack of emotions it advocated, Obi-Wan had made his home inside a heart that shrank back from such intrusion…no matter their status, or character. _And there you will stay, resilient whelp of mine._

Which meant that he had to find out what was troubling the boy—young man?—boy, so much that he had barely moved since setting foot into the room. And why he had unaccountably put up his mental shields.

/_Come now, little one,_/ he spoke, knocking at the mental barriers. /_What troubles you?_/

Obi-Wan seemed not to have heard him, and the master leaned forward slightly, placing his hand on his padawan's head. "Obi-Wan?"

The apprentice sat up suddenly, blinking. "Master? What—" he shook his head, looking at Qui-Gon with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I was…thinking."

"Yes, I gathered that." He waited, wondering if Obi-Wan would confide his thoughts.

The padawan did not. Instead, Obi-wan shook his head again, sighed, and stood up. "What are we doing this afternoon? Exploring the city?"

"That can be undertaken this evening...after accepting His Majesty's offer of providing us with Scaltian entertainment."

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. "I'd forgotten that King Zor wouldn't stop with stuffing us with walking insects," he grinned. "What torture has he planned for us?"

"Shame on you, for thinking so about our host. I'm sure he has our best interests at heart."

Obi-wan raised his eye-brows, his mouth beginning to curve into a sly smile. "Do you, now? I'm sure you know him best. What with you meeting with the Scaltians' approval, and the rest of it."

"They weren't wrong, you know. You _are_ thin, and deserve some fattening up."

"I am _not_. I may not be a towering giant, but I'm…ah…" he stopped, mock-frowning at Qui-Gon, who had begun to chuckle. "And I don't relish being laughed at."

"It is time you learnt to do so, then," Qui-Gon smiled, rising. "After all, padawan, you cannot be my apprentice, and not be subject to comparison between us."

"Unfair, I call it. Appearances are deceptive, as you keep telling me."

"Then you would do well to repeat those words of wisdom to those you underestimate you," the master moved towards his bed and sat down, pulling off his boots as he did so.

"No, thank you. I gain much when my adversaries underestimate me. It's a weapon, not a liability." He threw a look at his mentor. "You taught me that too."

"I seem to have taught you too many lessons, of late. And you'll now learn one more."

"Which is…?"

"Sleep the afternoon away."

"_Sleep_?"

"It is a way to rest, padawan. And it has been followed for centuries, by humans. A time-tested way of refreshment."

Obi-Wan placed a hand on his hip. "Are you sure this isn't an obscure way of teaching me facts of life, or something?"

"My poor padawan. If everything I say or do makes you want to fall all over yourself, trying to learn 'lessons'…then I've done a poor job of teaching you."

"Pitiful," Obi-Wan nodded, walking towards his bed. "I agree entirely."

"Little wretch," commented Qui-Gon, without heat. "Rest now, before you make me give you a sleep suggestion."

"You wouldn't dare, master."

"I have earned a reputation as being one who frequently does."

"I'm not tired."

Qui-Gon raised an eye-brow. Abruptly, he sat up. "In that case, you will engage in a demonstration of the _'Gentle Storm'_ kata…in front of an admiring Scaltian audience."

Obi-Wan pulled off his boots without much ado, throwing a glare at his master. "You're aware that I shall report this case of padawan abuse to the Council?"

"By all means," Qui-Gon said, arranging himself into a posture for meditation. "They will banish me to the moons of Denaira, where I will spend a lifetime of peace."

"Not really. You would be caged to our quarters and told to teach twenty initiate sabre sessions…back-to-back."

"A terrifying prospect. Rest assured that I will do all I can to avoid it."

"The day I learn to win a verbal battle against you, will be the day I become a knight."

"Or the day you finally learn to prepare a _welnet_ stew that can actually be consumed."

Obi-Wan had been lying down, but he sat up at this. "Is that why you polished two platefuls before we started for Scaltia?"

"I merely wished to spare you a lifetime of self-loathing, my deluded apprentice."

"Gah." Despite all assurances to the contrary, Obi-Wan felt his eye-lids grow heavy, closing almost without his wishing to. _Qui-Gon, the omniscient, indeed. How does he know these things?_

"Your vocabulary leaves much to be desired, padawan," Qui-Gon's voice floated towards him, and he smiled. "By the way…I expect to hear a full account of your travels with Archivist T'shar, when you wake up."

_What…? But how did he know…_? Obi-Wan's thoughts slowed down, as he felt his limbs growing heavy.

_Qui-Gon the omniscient,_ were his last thoughts, before he dropped off to sleep suddenly.

* * *

_Tbc…_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

**Killer Goldfish**: I believe in fleshing out the characters, and setting the scene, before I move on to the story proper – so it might feel that way…but that's the way I write it. Yes, I use the smilies with a purpose. It never hurts to smile. :-))))))))))  
**Lady Ivy Castillo**: Glad you liked. Your poor parents:-) Now, however, we begin to move away from humour – of sorts.  
**Seven**: I'm the fortunate one. :) Thank you, little One. Also, I'm working on the next chapter for '…Elysia'. That please you?  
**K.Elessar**: Strange but awesome planet, indeed. Now, for the further adventures of Captain Qui-Gon and his able right-hand, Obi-Wan…  
**ForsakenOn**: And the next chapter's here. :)  
**cubbiblu88**: I love Obi too. And here's more.  
**Shadow**: More you will have…  
**Awreel**: Thanks for reading! The JA means 'Jedi Apprentice' series – the time period spanning Obi-Wan Kenobi's apprenticeship with Qui-Gon Jinn, and leading up to 'The Phantom Menace'. It's the timeline I dabble in most. :)  
**Estel Baggins**: Thank you. :)  
**amber75**: The mystery will be revealed in the following chapters…starting with this one. :)  
**Myrielle**: Wow, thank you. The banter is something that flows easily – perhaps because that's the way I see them. But I'm really glad it comes across just the way I visualise it.  
**Stranded Stargazer**: Welcome! Obi's about twenty-three in this – I mentioned it in the first chapter, I think. Enjoy the ride:)

* * *

**V**

_**In Telona, the fourth month of the Most Illustrious Mjek the magnificent, a white beam had come forth to raise hopes in the hearts of the Meekest Tribes of Mandalain. And a Sun had been born.** _

He knew this with certainty, partly because it was so inscribed in the seventh scroll of Tybus the Sixth—and partly because T'shar was so certain of its authenticity. And she was the expert, after all.

"It's very difficult to know," she'd said. "So very difficult. And that's why we have to check, cross-check, double and triple-check."

"Yes, Archivist T'shar."

"It isn't necessary that we believe them, or about the chances of whether the prophecies might come true. The scrolls exist, and that is all that matters."

"Of course."

Her eyes had looked at him then, their violet hue deepening. "Are you mocking me, padawan?"

"Pardon…? No, certainly not. I was just…agreeing with you."

"You know enough about the Mandalain scrolls to agree with me, then? Perhaps you know enough to disagree too."

That was when alarm had begun to spike through his mind. "Archivist T'shar, I have no intention of antagonizing you. I was just…commenting."

"It isn't within your power to antagonize me, Padawan Kenobi."

"I apologize if I have offended you, Madame. It was not my intention to do so."

The lines around her eyes softened slightly. "Your enthusiasm will be your undoing, padawan. Learn this from me—and learn this well. Ours is to do, and to think of nothing else." She looked at him pityingly. "Not an easy lesson to learn at the best of times, or for the brightest student…and I suspect you will find it more difficult than most."

A strange feeling had assailed him, then. A feeling of remorse, panic…and a thread, the faintest thread of anger. The last increased his alarm a notch. "Our paths are different, Madame. I imagine we shall make use of different tactics to achieve our goals."

Her eyes had hardened again. "You have been ill-taught. Were I your master…" She shook her head slightly. "It is true that our paths are different. And I am glad."

He bent his head, under the pretext of examining a scroll, with fingers that shook slightly. "It is not my wish to offend you."

"You are defensive, and I'm not surprised." She stood up, clasping her cloak more securely around her. "If I were you, I would request a session with a Master well-trained in the philosophies given by the Code, and ask to be explained them in great detail."

"Yes, Archivist T'shar." Argument was useless, he saw.

She nodded graciously. "May the Force aid you in finding your path. It's obvious that you will need all the help you can get."

He had excused himself then, and ignoring her obvious disapproval, had walked out of the cavernous room, wishing desperately for a breath of air. And sunk to his knees, hoping for aid. A sign. Something. Anything.

A gust of air blasted itself into him and he felt himself fall back on the stones, gasping.

Master.

Help.

Help, help, help…

He felt his shoulder being shaken—not hard, but with a firm grip. "Obi-Wan, up. Now."

His eyes flew open involuntarily, and he found himself staring into intense blue eyes that were frowning into his—with worry?

"It's all wrong," he murmured weakly, mind still caught in between the world of dreams and reality. "It's all wrong. Isn't it?"

He saw the lines around his master's eyes deepen. "What is, padawan?"

Obi-Wan blinked. _The wind. There was no wind._ He took a deep breath, and listened to the faint sound of drums beating. _Not Chandren._ And exhaled slowly. His forehead felt clammy.

Qui-Gon released his hold on the younger Jedi's shoulder, watching as his student's cloudy grey eyes resolved themselves into a deeper, blue-green, crystalline hue. "What was it?"

"What was what?" Obi-Wan pulled off the bed-clothes that had seemingly scrunched themselves around him, swathing him up to his neck. _And it wasn't even cold._

Qui-Gon threw him a measuring glance. "You were…distressed." _And almost Force-pulled me out of meditation with your panic._

Obi-Wan stilled, eyes taking in the sombre light that had fallen in the room. He twisted towards the huge windows, trying to discern the time…and saw shadows deepening around the boulders arranged artistically in the Royal Gardens.

"It is beyond the eighteenth hour, Padawan," Qui-Gon remarked, still not moving from his position beside Obi-Wan's bed. "I would have woken you up in a few moments anyway. The King sent a message to ask us to be ready by the nineteenth hour."

"Oh." _Force, he had slept the whole afternoon away._ "Did I disturb your meditation? I'm sorry."

"You did…but it is no matter." He placed a hand on the apprentice's drooping shoulders. "Tell me about your dream, if you will."

Obi-Wan bit his lip, eyes on the floor. A sudden urge overcame him-to confess everything, to do away with this weight that had settled somewhere in the region of his heart...

_But I am a senior padawan._ "I…it was about Chandren."

_Not difficult to guess, that._ "And…?" Qui-Gon prodded gently.

Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Silly, really. I'm past the age of having nightmares." He smiled, a lop-sided curve appearing. "And dreams pass in time, as you say often."

"Only when the mind learns to accept it, padawan. What exactly did you dream about?"

"Scrolls. Something about Mandalain prophecies. That was what we were researching, after all."

_Evasion._ Qui-Gon shook his head slightly. He stared into a corner of the room, then, abruptly, sat down by the edge of Obi-Wan's bed. The latter bent his head, fingers absently picking at his braid. "You were researching scrolls. Yes, I know that. And…?"

"I should have stayed with the Agri-corps."

He had barely registered the surprise in Qui-Gon's eyes, before musical chimes interrupted them. The Royal Guards had arrived.

* * *

_Tbc_… 


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

**Stranded Stargazer**: LOL. That's ok :)  
**Killer Goldfish**: Haven't read the JA books myself – but I know the general outline of events. You might like to know that as per the JA series, Obi-Wan almost didn't make it to apprenticeship – he was shipped out of the Temple when he was four weeks shy of his 13th birthday (Jedi initiates who aren't selected by a master by the time they are 13 are considered 'non-Jedi-Knight' material, and are sent to the Agri-Corps. Qui-Gon chooses Obi as his padawan at almost the last moment…hence the reference.)  
**ForsakenOn**: Thanks for sticking with the story – your curiosity will be assuaged now, I hope. :)  
**amber75**: Poor Obi indeed. And here's your update. :)  
**Lady Ivy Castillo**: (goes pink) Why, thank you. You made my day. :)  
**YoshimiWolfspaw**: You were supposed to be. However, all will be revealed now. :)  
**Shadow**: Updated…now!  
**Estel Baggins**: Certainly. :)  
**A. NuEvil**: Wow. You really want to know what happened, don't you? I shan't keep you in suspense long…can't have Obi so drift for too long. :)  
**Seven**: My padawan! What would I do without your smile :). Thank you, Little One. (And what happened to that 'Gem' of yours?)  
**szhismine**: And more you will have. :)  
**Mysterious Jedi**: Thank you, and welcome.  
**Pirate Rhi**: LOL. I'm very glad you checked in, though. Welcome aboard!

* * *

**Note**: Thanks to everyone who reviewed **'Roses, Ruses and Romance'**...you guys are the best!

* * *

**VI**

The words were out of his mouth even before he had stopped to think about them—if, in fact, he had been thinking at all. An excellent exhibition of Jedi control, indeed.

_What have I done…and what did I just say?_

He felt, at once, the twinge of distress that swept across Qui-Gon's mind—for a moment, the calm blue of his mentor's eyes shifted to an intense, midnight hue; a sign of emotion he had learnt to recognise through the years. It was gone the next moment, and his face resumed it usual calm serenity—Qui-Gon was not a Jedi Master for nothing.

The master cleared his throat. "Why do you say that?"

Obi-Wan shook his head; he felt worse now, something he had not thought possible a few moments ago. "Forgive me, I wasn't…" He paused, rubbing his eyes. "I did not mean…I didn't mean that I _wanted_ to be there."

The musical chimes that indicated the presence of the Scaltian Guards rang out again, and Qui-Gon drew in a breath, looking at the door, weighing certain things in his mind. Eventually he flicked his wrist; an elegant snap of the fingers parted the carved door, revealing two Royal Guards, blinking at the sight of the suddenly open doorway, with no one near the control panel.

"Yes?" came a question—sharper in tone than it was intended to be; the master mentally berated himself for allowing it. It should not be thus. "What is it?" he asked, in a much more mellow tone.

The guards threw each other a swift glance, their small eyes communicating wonder, astonishment, and something bordering on awe. One of them finally licked his lips, and spoke. "Master Jedi," he bowed quickly. "Mighty King Zor, he weesh you to come. For fer—fes—fes-teevee-tees," he stammered on the word, obviously not used to the language; yet, he was more at home with it, than the King. "Soon?" he ended on an almost plaintive note. _So these were the Jedi_. He had heard only vague stories of their success in foiling attempts on the life of his King—it had not taken place in Scaltia, thank the High Priestess—though a small part of him wished he could have seen more of their prowess in battle. On the other hand, perhaps he didn't wish to know. Three minutes ago, they had been little more than honoured guests of His Majesty; now they were uniquely powerful beings who could open doors forty paces away without moving from their seat. _Who knew what more they were capable of?_

Qui-Gon stroked his beard, wishing ruefully that he hadn't indulged in that small display of the Force. The energy swirling around the Scaltian guards practically threw their thoughts at his mind—Scaltians had little idea of mental shielding, and these two were not even aware, probably, of what Jedi were capable of.

Beside him, Obi-Wan appeared to have tuned himself into his thoughts—his eyes had regained some of their liveliness, and he looked—for want of a better word—indulgent. Were he to open his side of the bond now, he would no doubt be treated to a gentle remark from his apprentice about _'frivolous uses of the Force'…_

…which them brought his mind back to the not-so-palatable remark about Agri-corps.

The Force nudged him gently. _Not right now..._

Long years of complete and total acquiescence to the will of the Force had their effect. Qui-Gon turned to the guards, now markedly more ill at ease than ever. Almost unconsciously, he sent a thread of calmness in their direction and felt them relax at once. "At what hour does His majesty wish us to be present?" he enunciated carefully, making sure they understood his query.

Whatever Scaltians lacked, it was certainly not in understanding. "Oo," spoke the first guard, pursing his lips in a comical display of thoughtfulness. "He weesh master Jeedi to be at ze A'arhena by _Shal_ ower." He saw Qui-Gon raise eye-brows, and quickly clarified. "Eeh…one-half Chorr-rus-kant ower." He finished.

Qui-Gon felt a tiny bubble of amusement spread its warmth inside him—the guard was so very much in earnest, after all. "May I know your name, please?"

The guard's eyes grew rounder, if possible, and he shared a look with his equally surprised, if tongue-tied colleague. "Eeh…eet eez Shabba." He bobbed again. "Master Jeedi."

"Guard Shabba, thank you for informing us—please convey our compliments to His Majesty, and assure him that we shall be there at the _Shal_ hour."

Shabba appeared pleased, and grew pink with the exertion of bowing one too many times. "We come bak at _Shal_ ower?" he enquired politely, throwing a look at Obi-Wan's considerably rumpled state.

Qui-Gon debated rising to see them off, and then decided against it. He nodded, eyes lighting up with a smile. "Thank you. That will be excellent."

Shabba and his colleague quickly excused themselves, and Obi-Wan, who had holding himself in a rigid posture for the duration of the conversation, relaxed, shaking his head. "Ah. I gather you've acquired one more loyal Scaltian into your growing fold of loyal followers."

"_Followers_, padawan?"

"Let's see, now," Obi-Wan held out his fingers. "There was the Twi'lek who swore to protect your honour with his life on Althia; the Ixian pirate who would present you with his little finger as a sign of gratitude…"

"You exaggerate, padawan mine," Qui-Gon threw the apprentice a mock frown. "Shabba would hardly qualify as one of them."

Obi-Wan's eyes were gleaming. "He already knows you as the one who saved his king—all he needs is an exhibition of your superior talents to lay down his blaster at your feet and swear fealty forever."

"I would rather they were treated to an exhibition of _your_ superior talents, padawan. I was in earnest, you know, about demonstrating the kata to the Scaltians."

Obi-Wan looked up, his eyes darkening with surprise—and something more. "A demonstration? To the Scaltians?..." his voice trailed away. "But we don't indulge in public demonstrations…"

Qui-Gon's voice was neutral. "It is not advocated, certainly—and for very good reasons," he acknowledged. "However, I meant it more as a short, precise demonstration of a few katas for a limited audience. I _am_ your master, after all...and King Zor would be pleased. The Scaltians are fond of martial arts, padawan, and relish the chance of watching a particularly honed display. From what I've seen they are a well-mannered, polite people, and treat all living things with the respect they deserve." He looked at his padawan, who appeared to be concentrating on the darkening skies of Scaltia, outside their window. "And it would be a way of testing how far my lessons have taken root—it's been more than a month since we sparred on a regular basis. Not that that should matter—light-sabres have always been your particular area of expertise, and I'm sure you've been sparring with your duelling partners—"

"I…" Obi-Wan hesitated, gathering his thoughts. "I haven't been sparring much, actually. Archivist T'shar…" he paused again. "She insisted that I spend most of my time on research."

Qui-Gon's senses heightened themselves. Mission upon mission of negotiations and diplomacy had given him, if not a complete map of the psyche of sentient beings, at least certain well-known characteristics to perceive and act on—and Obi-Wan's thought processes were as well-known to him as his own. It was to be hoped so, at least.

_Now,_ insisted the Force. _Proceed now._

He rose from the bed, stretching himself slightly, clearly dismissive of the Archivist and all attendant concerns. "I'm sure T'shar had her reasons. A month of irregular sparring sessions has not blunted your skill, surely?"

"Perhaps it isn't something I ought to do, anymore."

On his way towards the refresher, Qui-Gon stopped, mid-stride. He turned slowly towards his apprentice, still seated among crumpled sheets. "_What_ did you say?"

"There is no passion, there is serenity; there is no emotion, there is peace…" Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands.

Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice, puzzlement and a rising sense of wrongness permeating his mind. "I'm well aware of the Code, padawan."

"But it seems I'm not."

Qui-Gon stood still, mind filled with a conflicting set of images, out of which some semblance of order was beginning to take shape. _It couldn't be…could it_? "Padawan," he began, his voice a gentle rumble, "Would you be so kind as to tell me…" the slightest hint of paristeel, "what exactly T'shar said?"

"She taught me the Code all over again." Obi-Wan pulled his face out his hands, and appeared to focus on some point where the rich, mural-filled walls of their room met the brown ceiling. Control and an urge to confess seemed to war for supremacy in his mind…the latter won, in the end, and the words poured out in a rush, as though they had been dammed up for a long time, and were in danger of corroding him completely. "She said that I was a bundle of uncontrolled emotions...imperfect. That I had not learnt my lessons well." His voice rose with his urgency. "That I approached my life with a passion unsuited to that of a Jedi. That I cared too much about my skills, that I felt an unseemly delight in practising my sabre techniques, that I was too focussed on weapons, combat and defence, that I did not care to absorb the lessons of my elders, that I preened myself on my talents, that it was wrong to feel such delight…" he was breathing heavily now, disturbed and unsettled.

Qui-Gon noticed, with some detachment amidst the emotion raging in his mind, that the padawan's eyes were now grey—dark, intense grey, a sure sign of high mental distress and agitation. By contrast, his voice—strangely steady—had sunk lower and lower, until the master could only barely hear him.

Obi-Wan looked up. Qui-Gon was staring at the ground, eye-brows firmly knit in a frown that appeared to have always been there.

"That I was wrong to take pride in my skills," Obi-Wan continued, eyes back on the sheets. "That I was wrong…that my whole life had been wrong. _Wrong._" He shook his head, an attempt to regain control, but which only served to accentuate his despair. "She…I…" he stopped. "I couldn't look at my sabre after that."

The padawan raised his eyes to see his master draw a deep breath, and put a hand to his brow, in a vain attempt to smooth his forehead. Guilt spread its eager tendrils through him—guilt that he thought he had outgrown; guilt that he felt sure had caused his master great pain; guilt that he had disappointed him—somehow. And he had been so determined to deal with this, himself. _Blessed Force, would he never be free of this crushing lack of self-worth?_

He would have been considerably surprised if he could have seen, through their now shielded bond, that Qui-Gon was feeling a very distinct, and a most unJedi-like urge to seek out Archivist T'shar, and throttle her into the Force.

* * *

_tbc..._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**

**Mysterious Jedi**: And you'll get more. Here's the next. :)  
**Stranded Stargazer**: I'll give you leave to throttle her at the end. :)  
**YoshimiWolfspaw:** LOL. I always see him as fiercely protective of Obi-Wan – even if he certainly won't show it to outsiders.  
**Seven**: Thanks for your enthusiastic reply, my padawan. (psst…found your '_Gems_…', and reviewed it. :) ). Yes, obi-Wan needs to snap out of it, soon. Will he, I wonder. ;)  
**Estel Baggins**: You have my permission to print it out – just for reading purposes. ;) No, I'm not a linguistics major – heck, I'm not even an English major – so you can imagine how happy your comment made me. I was subconsciously thinking of the Gaelic tongue when I was writing it, I suppose. Thank you so much – I'm glad you liked it.  
**Lady Ivy Castillo**: I'll keep it as well-balanced as I can. Thanks :)  
**Nicky**: Thank you, Nicky. Welcome.  
**amber75**: Blood- thirsty, aren't you? (chuckles). Qui-Gon might take you at your word…  
**A. NuEvil**: You'd better form an Anti-T'shar club and throttle her. (grin). Thanks – am glad you liked the explanation. More is coming up.  
**szhismine**: And more's coming up soon.  
**ForsakenOn**: Well…technically, Jedi don't kill – without cause. So I think Qui might hesitate a wee bit. :) Thanks for sticking with the story!  
**Killer Goldfish**: LOL, never worry. Productivity is a state of mind. As for slimy archivists… :)  
**Shadow**: I don't like T'shar at this point either. :)  
**Awreel**: As far as this fic is concerned, cliffies don't last long. So here you are. :)  
**Shandrial**: Welcome. Thank you – and here's more. :)

* * *

**VII**

The melodious sound of an even-bird reached them, from somewhere outside the room—the Royal gardens, probably. Twilight was falling after all, and Scaltia's winged creatures were making their evening journey to their resting places. A faint, soft breeze wafted its way around the room—comforting in its presence, but still hot. Far too hot for this time of the evening, anyway.

Aside from these few sounds, silence lay in a thick, near-suffocating blanket over the chamber. Obi-Wan had stopped gazing at the sheets and had resumed holding his head in his hands, his face fully obscured. Qui-Gon, raising his head from a vain attempt to soothe the frown between his brows, saw the padawan quiver slightly…_oh, good Force._

He reached the apprentice's side within a second. "Obi-Wan?" he spoke tentatively, trying, almost unconsciously, to test out the student's mental state. "Padawan…?"

Fortunately, Obi-Wan raised his head almost at once—and Qui-Gon realized, with sudden, immense relief, that no streaks of tears marred the face. True, the young man seemed to have some difficulty breathing…but he appeared to be in full possession of his faculties. _Admirable, considering what he's had to put up with._

Qui-Gon cast a discreet glance at the chronometer attached to his wrist—they had a few minutes before the danger mark passed, that signified that they would have to bustle about, to meet His Majesty. He laid a gentle hand on the padawan's shoulder. Obi-Wan's eyes didn't drop, but they slid away from his, roving over the room, as though keenly interested in the murals on the walls. Qui-Gon recognized the tactic; he himself had been guilty of practicing it a few times, with his own master. It had not succeeded with Master Dooku; it certainly would not succeed now.

"Padawan," he spoke again, and this time, placed a finger on the dimpled chin, bringing Obi-Wan's face in an upward tilt, until the grey eyes met his own. Qui-Gon looked into their stormy intensity, and felt anew the weight of what lay before him. _Force, why did fate throw such difficulties in the way of his padawan…and himself, for that matter?_

He sat down on the bed. "Obi-Wan, you do know that T'shar wasn't right," he began, determined to resolve the situation as quickly as possible.

He had certainly not expected Obi-Wan to jump up and pronounce an ecstatic response…yet, the padawan's dejection disturbed him. Obi-Wan appeared to have anticipated this theory, and had already chosen to decline it.

"Obi-Wan, answer me, please." He felt worry in earnest, now. An incoherent Obi-Wan he could console, but a silent Obi-Wan wrapped in a sorrow he could not reach nearly always meant intense misery, hardship, and a general disinterest in life. Fatal, for both of them. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say," Obi-Wan answered. "It's…it's done with."

The listlessness in his voice kindled a spark in Qui-Gon—he had heard that tone at other times, other places. _My own voice,_ he remembered, with something akin to horror. It had been present when he had first begun to understand Xanatos in all his true glory…and later, after Tahl's death.

_Great Force, no. No. No._

This was an abyss into which one could descend for an eternity, and still never come out. It was an entry into a world in which he had almost lost himself, and the last thing he wanted was to let Obi-Wan travel the same path.

He shook the unenergetic bundle in front of him. Lethargy and depression were two halves of a whole enough to push any sane individual into inertia—for a Jedi, the effects were disastrous. "Padawan, you've been listening to too many philosophical debates, and I want you to stop running them again and again, in your mind. They will _not_ help," he said harshly, adopting a sharp tone on purpose. "You _will_ sit up. Now."

It seemed to have some effect on Obi-Wan; the padawan jerked himself into some semblance of discipline almost at once. "Forgive me, master," he murmured automatically, head still bowed.

"Look at me, please. I prefer talking to you, as opposed to your hair, or the wall."

The padawan raised his eyes with what appeared to be great difficulty, and Qui-Gon felt his heart twist as he saw the dejection in his student's eyes. "My young one, you have a talent for analysing such things," he spoke gently. "I have often relished our debates on the Code—I have explained again and again, what they truly mean; that it is the Force that we must follow, and that the Force never leads us wrong." He placed a finger on Obi-Wan's cheek. "I have even demonstrated to you, the wrongness of sticking to the letter; mere words which are supposed to lead us to a higher level of understanding. Words are words, padawan—they are the tools of understanding; they cannot take the place of true knowledge. You _know_ this."

Abruptly, his voice sank lower, deepening in timbre. "It is not wrong to feel, young one; certainly not when it is obvious that this is what we're meant to do. To not feel would be to lose connection with ourselves, to cut ourselves off from the living energy that surrounds us. How can we aid others when we flounder in ignorance, ourselves?"

Obi-Wan bit his lip, frowning over his master's words with what appeared to be painful concentration. Anger, sharp and cold, rose at T'shar and the havoc she had wreaked, in Qui-Gon's heart; he thrust it down with resolution, knowing that it would need a session of meditation to release it completely. Nothing of the kind could be attempted when Obi-Wan needed his strength, now.

"I'm…confused," spoke Obi-Wan at least, his eyes filled with a certain intense eagerness—as though he had been thrown a life-line, but was unaware of what it meant, or how to use it. "T'shar said…" he drew a deep breath. "T'shar said that one did not need to do battle, or relish skills, to aid others. All it required was a logical mind, and precision in thinking."

Qui-Gon knit his brows again, appalled at what Obi-Wan had said. _Precision? Logic?_ "Yes, well, Obi-Wan, I'm sure she meant well…but though precision and logic are excellent tools in their own way, can you really imagine them taking the place of kindness, and affection? There are times when the softer emotions are not a hindrance, but a help, young one. The only means of help, I might add."

Obi-Wan did not look convinced; if anything his confusion seemed to have increased.

Qui-Gon shook his head briefly, his chestnut mane swinging about his head. _What did she do to him?_ He raised his eyes and looked into Obi-Wan's face.

For a long moment, nothing could be heard but the chirping of insects, a steady hum that had begun in the background. This time, though his eyes were still cloudy and a swirling mass of apathy, Obi-wan did not flinch.

The master drew a deep sigh, traced a finger along the padawan's jaw-line, and stood up. "Dress, now. We have only a few moments before Shabba comes calling for us. It is time."

* * *

_Tbc…_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**

**Katieelessar**: Thanks. I like setting out the landscape, so to speak. It makes visualization easier. :) Yep, T'shar is messing up with Obi's head…the poor boy. I wonder how much more he'll have to go through!  
**Killer Goldfish**: Can't find much to improve eh? That's a good sign. :)  
**Shandrial**: What indeed? We'll find out soon. :)  
**Desero**: Wow, thank you. I'm updating as I write…so you've got your wish. :)  
**YoshimiWolfspaw**: Distracted because of a certain addition from a Tatooine…but deep down, it's is padawan that he respects. :)  
**Lady Ivy Castillo**: Yay for Obi-angst indeed. :)  
**Seven**: I'm glad it makes good reading the second time too – and you do well not to tell. That's my paddy. :)  
**A. NuEvil**: (Gasp!) a Club, a club! To throttle T'shar, no less! Fallen to the Sithly side, have you:) Updated…now.  
**Estel Baggins**: Thank you. :)Yes, Life always has a habit of interrupting what needs to be done – but perhaps there's some good in that? And I'm glad you can "see" the characters. :)  
**Stranded Stargazer**: Hold…hold…  
**ForsakenOn**: I'm rather curious to see how Qui might handle this. :)  
**Senshia**: I hope so too.  
**Awreel**: Well, aside from the JA series written by Jude Watson, I don't know any others – And I haven't even read those fully (winks at Padawan). I read fan-fiction, mostly. :)

* * *

**VIII**

Obi-Wan was surprised, when he and Qui-Gon had walked out of the chambers assigned to them, to find that the half-light that had pervaded the skies of Scalti almost an hour ago, still persisted. Surely twilight vanished early, as it did on Coruscant? But then, Coruscant's skies were hardly to be taken as a precise indicator of the time - Coruscant mornings often gave the impression of a city fairly reeling through hours of labour, and the nights looked like...a buzzing, never-at-a-stop day. Rather unsettling to new arrivals to the city-planet, but hardly worth a notice by its residents.

Obi-Wan himself had felt little appreciation for the planet's day and night cycle initially, but years of missions to many planets far more varied in their climatic conditions had swiftly ridden him of indifference in that respect. For one thing, too many planets had customs, traditions and rituals in connection with the time of the day - for another, he had a master who was often finely in tune with nature; such changes had to be taken note of, rather than summarily dismissed. Qui-Gon appreciated such things far more than other masters did. It had puzzled Obi-Wan in the beginning; in later years he had learnt to respect it, and had begun to enjoy the finer aspects of such appreciation.

They were escorted by the ever watchful Shabba and his still tongue-tied colleague, and followed the Scaltians through winding hallways of the Royal Palace. Obi-Wan noticed that Qui-Gon, usually observant of his surroundings, and who took the time to enjoy the really beautiful works-of-art that were displayed at appropriate landings and corners, rarely did so. Instead, the master merely looked straight ahead, eyes seemingly in focus - but Obi-Wan, sending a slight tendril of the Force in his direction, sensed Qui-Gon deep in thought. Added to which, their bond was closed to him.

The padawan was aware that the silence was temporary - it had to be - yet, it had not occurred in such a long time that he felt strangely bereft. Worry gnawed at him - worry that Qui-Gon was displeased, and that the master had expected much more from an apprentice in his twenty-third year...at times, it even threatened to overwhelm his earlier confusion about T'shar and her theories. He had told no less than the truth, there - he truly was confused. It appeared to him that the Archivist had succeeded in breaking through years of foundation laid carefully by masters far older to her both in age and experience.

A small thread of guilt reached towards him...again. _Archivist T'shar had indeed found it easy to force her opinions into my mind..._

Abruptly, he noticed that Qui-Gon had stopped, and was gazing at him - Obi-Wan looked into the blue eyes, and found a mixture of...what? He couldn't quite define the odd feeling that crept through him as he held the master's glance. Within a moment, however, it had passed.

"Master?" he asked. "What is it?"

Qui-Gon drew his eyes from Obi-Wan, and looked to his right. He raised a hand. "There."

Obi-Wan looked - and drew in a breath.

They were standing at a balcony - a huge one, its _marbeil_ archways curving over their heads gracefully. It occurred to Obi-Wan that the Scaltians manifested their excellent taste in many ways, far better than certain so-called 'developed' people he had encountered. It was as Qui-Gon had said - they were a unique people, and worthy of knowing. Besides, beauty lay only in the eyes of the beholder.

In front of their eyes, a huge space appeared...and arena of sorts, Obi-Wan realized, with seats in stone allotted at regular intervals. Even at this distance, it looked huge, which meant that it's true proportions must be magnificent. Gaily coloured buntings and banners flew atop poles - some had words written on them.

"They're celebrating the Feast Day, on account of the Season of Joy." Qui-Gon paused, looking up at the sky. Pearly white light bathed the plains, and clouds streaked pink and yellow crept across the horizon. The air was still oppressively hot, but it seemed to have deterred none of the Scaltian citizens teeming all over the arena. A medley of sounds reached Obi-Wan - tinkling sounds that indicated bells, and other, varied shrieks and yells that could mean anything...the padawan rather suspected that they were indications of Scaltian music - not that he could distinguish any kind of rhythm or meaning in it.

"Feast Day?" he asked absently.

"It varies - the King announces one day as Feast Day in the 24 standard days that precede the Month of the Sun." Qui-Gon spoke. "This year, he picked it so it coincided with the day of our arrival." He took in Obi-Wan's enquiring gaze. "I spent some part of the afternoon...gathering information."

The words were spoken lightly, and obviously meant to be taken as such- but Obi-Wan felt a pang of remorse. _I should have been with Qui-Gon._

He answered resolutely, however, forcing himself to consider the varied scene before him. "It is...kind of His Majesty."

Qui-Gon smiled. "Very. It was probably his intention to...ah...show us off, so to speak."

"_Show us off?_"

"It appears so. I've some news for you - we will be meeting others besides the Scaltian Royal family...I learnt that the Premier of Seula'ania and his aides have been invited as guests of honour as well."

"Seula'ania?" Obi-Wan wrinkled his brow, searching his memory. The name seemed familiar..."The planet that's just outside the Scaltian system?"

"Yes. It's not, however, a member of the Republic."

Obi-Wan raised his eye-brow. "It isn't...? No of course not. I remember now...they were negotiating with the Senate regarding representation..." he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Something to do with halting illegal ammunitions trade..." He paused. "That planet has the richest deposits of Petritium that's been recorded."

"Your memory serves you well. Yes, their mineral resources have been the bone of contention for centuries...and friction has escalated, over the last few decades. Partly why the Senate tried to close negotiations quickly - but Seula'anians have an aversion, apparently, towards being told what to do, and what not to, and the Senate's assurances of protection had little effect." He sighed. "A resolution was never reached - the Senate believes that there are simply too many cultural differences to be ironed out."

"Which of our own were involved?"

"Master Entain, and Master D'joun."

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. The two mentioned were, if not the best diplomats in the Order, certainly remarkably meticulous in their methods, and had built a reputation for achieving peace with no recourse to violence of any kind. Methodical, systematic...yet compassionate. Well-suited to the mission, in fact. "They couldn't achieve a compromise...?"

"Not until this moment...though there are still hopes. Entain has reported a favourable turn of events..."

Obi-Wan nodded slightly, the negotiator in him weighing the facts. There were ways, and there were ways to achieve compromises, and negotiate terms. It was easy enough, in some cases, to predict which were the missions that would yield a quick result - some missions were meant to be, while some were...to be postponed. The Jedi never really accepted that a mission was a lost cause.

_There is nothing that can be achieved through needless emotion and passion, that can be achieved by method and protocol..._

He frowned as T'shar's words reached him across the distances of space...and memory. A queer weakness settled into his knees, and he applied himself in forcibly shaking it off. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Shabba make a gesture, indicating that they were to follow.

Abruptly, Qui-Gon turned away, and Obi-Wan, found, much to his surprise, that they had spent barely a few minutes at the balcony. _Strange_. It felt like hours, to him.

They followed the guards around a one larger, winding corridor, the richness in tapestry ebbing and flowing around them. A richly carved entrance to their right led down an impressive flight of stairs, obviously leading to the ground level - down which they stepped...

...and found themselves under what seemed to be a huge, orange awning, stretching for the better part of the arena that Obi-Wan seen from the balcony, above.

The heat hit them in waves, and Obi-Wan found himself scowling instinctively, before he remembered where he was and smoothened his expression. Already his braid seemed to stick to his head, and though he was much more at ease with heat than cold, it was still uncomfortable.

Beside him, Qui-Gon appeared as calm and serene as ever. They found themselves approaching the Royal party, and Shabba quickly led them to King Zor - who did not seem to have lost an iota of his beaming good humour, since the mid-day meal.

Obi-Wan found himself surrounded by smiling members of the Scaltian Royal family - members of which he now met for the first time since their arrival in Scalti...with the exception of King Zor, of course. He found himself bowing to more and more round, pink royalty - the Queen, Her Majesty Zor-ethul-bia-ph-ma-wera, Otherwise Called Queen Bia, Princesses Ama, De'e, and Roe, the Crown Prince Ze'e (who, being slightly thinner than the rest of his family, seemed to be fated to put up with plenty of good-natured teasing) the First minister, his aide, and a host of others who appeared to have nothing to do with royalty whatsoever, but were all introduced with great pomp, nevertheless.

To his left, Obi-wan felt his master's good humour on the rise. He and Qui-Gon had dressed well that evening, as befitting the attendance of a state occasion - they were ambassadors of the Republic, after all, and were always required to maintain a certain appearance, dusty missions and vacations notwithstanding. Their Jedi tunics were crisp and neat, and Obi-Wan knew himself to be attired as befitting a Jedi...and yet, he had an impression that it would be Qui-Gon who would walk away with the honours, were it to come to that.

A rueful smile appeared on his lips. His master never really paid great attention to his looks, as it were, other than wishing to present a neat and tidy appearance - in truth, it was his aura of power and self-assurance that more than outshone anything or anyone beside him, he knew. It was exactly what many Jedi wished to achieve, and did achieve, to some degree. Only to some degree.

The effect that Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master extraordinaire, had on those who met, however, was something akin to meeting a wall of sheer Force power - alluring, competent, gentle...yet, for all the compassion it projected - held a slight hint of paristeel confines that could not be breached. Enhanced as all these were by his physical attributes, Obi-Wan was not really surprised by the looks of awe, admiration and respect that followed the Jedi master as they made their way towards others - the guests of the Scaltian Royal family. Added to this was the fact that the master had been the means of saving King Zor from the attempts on his life...

Had he cast his senses about, Obi-Wan would have been considerable surprised to have noted that quite a few of the Royal family were equally impressed by his own carriage and bearing.

He did not choose to, however...and soon, they found themselves before three tall, almost skinny humanoids, their heads adorned with rich purple cloth, and of a height that seemed even to rival Qui-Gon Jinn's. The master's head reached their own, however, and Obi-Wan heaved a mental sigh of relief.

So these were the Seula'anians.

Premier Akat'ai looked at them through sour yellow eyes, and Obi-Wan felt himself being subjected to an extremely critical appraisal down a beaky nose. Unconsciously he straightened himself further, feeling Qui-Gon too, do so. The premier's aides appeared unconcerned. A moment later, Akat'ai unbent enough to render a crisp greeting, and almost at once, whisked himself away to the seat of honour beside King Zor. It did not really require Obi-Wan too much effort to understand the association of ideas that must have been flitting through the Premier's mind - they were, after all, representatives of the Jedi order - and as such, must have brought memories of the Senate, and all connected events. The Force wafted towards him the displeasure that clearly surrounded the visitors, and he sighed. There was little he or Qui-Gon could do, here. They were, technically, off-duty...and the negotiations were not part of their mission perspectives.

The Scaltian monarch more than made up for Akat'ai's frosty greeting, by showering them with compliments, and leading them to their seats, which were to the King's right. Master and Apprentice settled themselves beside their host, and prepared to enjoy - or, as in Obi-Wan's case, project an impression of enjoyment.

Resigned to his mental state Obi-Wan might be - for all that, however, the padawan found the subsequent displays of dance and drama enjoyable. With the aid of a translator (employed, thoughtfully, by King Zor), he was given an insight into much of Scaltian culture that he otherwise would not have had the benefit of. Scaltians made up for the dryness of their landscape with plenty of colour in both attire and arts - their performances were quaint, and surprisingly full of humour.

"We 'ave a zaying, in Zgalti," murmured the cheery translator, who went by the name of Cra. " 'He hoo kannot laugh at 'imself, kannot laugh at the world.' Eeh, Master Jedi?" He looked towards Qui-Gon hopefully, who smiled in genuine appreciation.

A roar rose from the audience, acclaiming a particularly graceful dancer.

"Your wisdom does you great credit - indeed, Scaltia is a land of many treasures; your spontaneity and wit are to be much valued," murmured the master, and Cra translated the remarks at once to a curious King Zor. The monarch sat back, pleased.

To Obi-Wan, the remark signified the end of what appeared to have been a reasonably enjoyable evening. The word 'spontaneity' had brought back, in full force, what he had been trying to forget thus far, and he squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable. Quelling an urge to press a hand to his forehead, he stared at the arena, trying to concentrate on the performance below - which seemed to involve two troops of colourful dancers, one fire-eater, and three large nerfs. Beside him, Cra had launched into an involved narrative of the backdrop to the performance, and Qui-Gon appeared to be listening with great interest.

The sky stayed a pearly white, much to Obi-Wan's surprise, although a greyer hue had approached it. Dust swirled from the stomping of dancers in the arena, sometimes completely shrouding them from their view. The audience roared, clapped, and sang its way through many items, and King Zor watched his people enjoy themselves, pleased. The Scaltians were a hard-working lot, and made the most of their few days of enjoyment.

It seemed to Obi-Wan that the colours belonged to another world - a world that he would never inhabit, again. Dejection extended its clutches towards him, and he felt a wave of exhaustion, accentuated by the seemingly unending enthusiasm of the people around him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. _You are a Jedi,_ he told himself severely. _Drive this lethargy. Now._

Below him, he saw a crowd of enthusiastic Scaltians throw scraps of cloth and leaves at the performers, who seemed to have come to the end of their act. The drums thundered loudly - once, twice, thrice - and the arena plunged into compete and total silence.

A deafening applause arose, in which he found himself joining in it. King Zor and his family voiced their vociferous approval.

And then, the monarch stepped away from them, moved towards the podium, as though to address his people. He felt Cra edge towards Qui-Gon, and saw the latter lean closer, so as not to miss what was going to be said. Curiosity touched him. _What now?_

He knew almost at once. King Zor, in appreciation of the successful efforts of the Jedi in having saved his life, was now going to present him and Qui-Gon with..._what was it?_ Oh yes. Medals of appreciation.

Obi-Wan sat still, unsure of whether to express happiness about this announcement, or assume a posture of great serenity and ease - he would have had no doubt, in other circumstances, but his senses had wandered so far off in the past hour that he found it slightly difficult to collect himself. He looked towards Qui-Gon, who projected all the impassiveness a master was supposed to project - his Force sense told him that the master had been expecting something of this kind.

In a detached manner, he watched Qui-Gon move, as though he wasn't somehow a part of what was going on. The master was nearing King Zor, and the apprentice suddenly became aware of the fact that he too, would have to do so.

He stood up, feeling the gaze of the Royal Family on him, and stepped forward. The king was standing beyond the awning, at the edge of a protuberance into the arena - an extension of the stage-like construction that looked onto the central space. Once there, wide steps extended downwards into the enclosure itself.

Obi-Wan found himself walking behind Qui-Gon, and felt the wind suddenly flap at him, as though relishing the opportunity to attack him at long last. After what seemed like hours under the stifling awning, however, the padawan welcomed it with relief. He drew a deep breath, suddenly feeling as though he had reached the edge of a tunnel, looking out into the daylight after hours of darkness.

Below him, the Scaltian audience clustered together, eager and avid for the chance of gazing at the Jedi who had saved their King. Obi-Wan dimly heard the murmur of a huge expanse of people talking all at once...and wondered what kind of an appearance they presented to such a mass of people. It felt strange - though their missions often led them to peoples and cultures unknown, anonymity also played a large role on such missions. Jedi knew more about effacing themselves, rather than such open display. It would go against the grain of many of his peers, Obi-Wan reflected. But then, Qui-Gon was fundamentally a different Jedi. As one who saw himself eager to keep in touch with the multitude, Qui-Gon would rather welcome it.

He sank more into his thoughts, keeping his sense half on the silent mass below, half on the King and his mentor, as they stood in front of him. Beside the round monarch, Obi-Wan reflected, Qui-Gon's impressive height, and his carriage must impress anyone. Indeed, he looked every inch the warrior he was - long strands of chestnut sweeping his shoulders, head thrown back, as though surveying _his_ own people, instead of another's, arms clasped lightly within sleeves...

King Zor was proclaiming something in a loud voice - and Obi-Wan had occasion to marvel at the sheer volume he could produce. He was holding in his hand, what appeared to be a solid golden plate - it threw a golden sheen against the setting sun. In it, placed gently, were two identical strands of metal links...of gold. One chain held a brilliant blue stone, while the other, held a dazzling green.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened at this piece of extravaganza - King Zor was undeniable very generous. On the other hand, didn't he know that Jedi didn't see finery...ah well. To acquire finery was one thing - to be bestowed it as a gift was something else altogether. King Zor was merely exhibiting his gratitude for their services...

..._possession is another folly, not allowed by the Code._

Obi-Wan abruptly drew a deep breath, feeling a spike of irritation, unease and discomfort course through him. _Force help me..._

He sensed Qui-Gon stiffen beside him, and noticed that the King had come to the end of his speech.

King Zor took the golden neck-lets in his hand, held them to the sun, where they glinted and gleamed in a myriad of colours. The audience threw out a shout of approval, obviously entranced.

Obi-Wan watched, heart warming in spite of himself, as the monarch drew the chain with the green stone around Qui-Gon's neck. The master had to bend to accept it, but he did so in a graceful manner, earning a fervent applause. Having accepted the neck-let, Qui-Gon smiled out at the audience, accepting their gesture. This, of course, served to drive the crowd into a wilder, more enthusiastic frenzy.

King Zor smiled, pleased more than ever by his people's infectious pleasure. He picked up the second neck-let - the one with a blue stone - and approached Obi-Wan. The padawan straightened himself, feeling an unbidden pleasure at such felicitation.

The neck-let approached him - Obi-Wan was aware of the large, dazzling blue stone that seemed to reflect a million shades of blue, as it neared his neck.

Three paces ahead...two paces...one pace...the neck-let was almost upon him...

"A moment, your Majesty."

Obi-Wan reared up his head, immeasurably surprised at Qui-Gon's voice. King Zor looked at the master, equally perplexed. His eyes enquired why the master had interrupted felicitation of his padawan.

Qui-Gon bowed, appearing apologetic. He then called Cra to him with a wave of his hand, and when the translator approached, spoke a few words into his ear. The translator turned to the monarch and spoke a rush of Scaltian, as Obi-Wan watched, astonished. _What was going on...?_

He turned to king Zor, only to see the ruler's expression turn from bewilderment, to approval. He turned to Obi-Wan, cast a glittering smile, and handed the neck-let to...

...Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan watched, in undisguised perplexity, as Qui-Gon calmly took the blue neck-let. Almost too numbed to send a mental nudge through the Force, he forced himself to touch their bond tentatively.

/_Master?_/ _Blessed Force, the shields were down, at last._

/_Padawan?_/

/_What **is** this...?_/

/_A contest, padawan mine. The Scaltians think it's an ancient Jedi custom, between Master and Padawan...or so I've told them._/

Obi-Wan blinked against the setting sun, confusion claiming him completely. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then focussed on Qui-Gon, who had stepped a few paces away, and had shrugged himself out of his cloak in one elegant movement.

/_Contest? What contest? What **is** all this about?_/

Qui-Gon's hands travelled almost lovingly to his light-sabre, clipped to the left side of his belt. In one fluid motion, the weapon was in the master's hands.

/_Quite a simple one, padawan mine. A contest of skills, if you will. I have your neck-let...your gift from the Scaltian Monarch. If you wish to prove yourself worthy of it, you must best your opponent to get it._/

/_Best my opponent? Best who?_/

/_Me._/

Obi-Wan raised incredulous eyes at this, forgetting his surroundings for the moment. /_Master, with all respect, this is ridiculous. **What** are you doing? I never knew...I didn't know..._/ he stopped, feeling at a loss, and somehow, defenceless.

Qui-Gon appeared unperturbed - and it occurred to Obi-Wan that he had anticipated all of the padawan's reactions. /_Surprise is the essence of attack, young one. A lesson I've taught you, before._/

Qui-Gon threw a glance at his stunned apprentice as he transferred his attention to the blue neck-let. He held it against the sun, angling it so the colours flashed around as much as ever. The crowd hushed itself in revered silence. He looked at obi-Wan again, a mischievous smile edging his mouth.

/_I dare you, padawan mine. Win it - if you can._/

* * *

_**Tbc… (Heh.)**_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Sorry I haven't updated in a long time…but DRL hit me bad. Hugs to everyone who reviewed…I'll write back in the next post, I promise. In the meantime, here's the next instalment.

* * *

**IX**

Time seemed to come to a stand-still. For a few muted seconds, the galaxy appeared to have come to a grinding halt: Obi-wan, standing on the stone platform, nearest to the protection offered by the orange awning, King Zor and Cra slightly further away from him—and last of all, Qui-Gon, standing at the edge, one hand resting on his hip, eye-brows raised in open challenge.

/_Master, do but consider what you're embarking on. _/

/_I have considered enough, padawan mine, and have made my decision. It is up to you, now, to assist me in carrying it out._/

/_A public exhibition in front of **Scalti**? Forgive me for speaking so, but I believe this is insane. _/

/_Believe what you will. But remember that you are bound by the rules. My rules, at the moment._/

/_You deliberately misled the King!_/

Qui-Gon shook his head almost imperceptibly, his chestnut mane brushing his collar slightly. /_I will do what I must._/

A strange other-worldly feeling settled on the padawan—as though the worlds he knew had suddenly chosen to behave in a completely irrational manner. What bothered him even further was the fact that…far from being disturbed by this extraordinary change of events, a part of him—a miniscule part, certainly—was actually beginning to relish it. _Insane._ There had to be a reason—unconventional Qui-Gon might be, but he was also well-known for achieving results with his methods. Spectacularly successful results, one could say. Results that…

Abruptly, he understood. With Scaltia's setting sun throwing its golden rays onto the arena, Obi-Wan raised his head. Oh yes…his master was seeking to make him understand. Proposing a solution to the confusion that had been corroding his mind for weeks. His lips curved in a smile, even as he felt the same, curious weakness stealing into his joints. _I know what he seeks…but I cannot give it._

/_The longer you hesitate, Obi-Wan, the worse it becomes._/

/_I have the option of refusing to fight._/

/_Yes. In which case you will have earned the undying scorn of all present here._/

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath. /_A Jedi cares not for such things._/

/_Indeed. There speaks T'shar's student. I concede, here and now, that you know far more about the Jedi ways than any living Jedi Master in the galaxy._/

The words were delivered with a sting—and Obi-Wan flinched. That was _not_ what he had meant. He had meant to draw on T'shar's words…and then, he realized that more than one meaning could be assigned to his statement. One, that he undoubtedly had assimilated the Archivist's words—the other was that his own master's teachings meant little to him. His eyes widened. Was that what Qui-Gon thought? Force, _no…_

But there was no time to waste. The conversation between them had taken no more than a few seconds…and Qui-Gon had already begun to make preparations for battle. The master was looking at him quizzically, as though completely and intimately aware of the mental conflict he was going through—knowing Qui-Gon, he probably was.

_Blast._

A wave of embarrassment swept through the padawan. His master was punishing him—making a mockery of him, although well aware of his weaknesses. This was not the time, nor the place…

In front of him, Qui-Gon had activated his weapon—the light-sabre hissed into existence with a prolonged hiss—a sound he had both grown to admire and respect, it seemed, in another life-time. Below them, the Scaltian mass of humanity heaved a deep, reverent sigh—the Jedi weapon was little more than a thing of legend…this would be, for many, the only real opportunity to see it in use.

The green blade swung lazily in front of Obi-Wan's eyes, as though inviting him to learn; to absorb what he had had no hesitation in learning, in other times and at other places. Of power, safety, and beauty; of the countless times this blade had been used to save weaklings—defenceless civilians caught in the middle of wars they knew nothing of; to save Twi'leks, Bothans, Ithians, and the Force knew how many other beings, both sentient and otherwise…

T'shar mocked him.

…_to kill, maim, and cut down. To use more Force than is thought necessary._

To save. To defend. To drive away those who seek to murder with abandon.

_…to chop; wound and injure—to use even when completely unnecessary._

A tool of defence.

_…an excuse to slaughter._

Ten paces away from him, Qui-Gon raised his sabre in a mock-salute. /_Are you done with your internal conflict yet, padawan mine?_/

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, anger spiking up in him—an anger that should not exist in the first place; that he had no business permitting to exist. The words were cruel; calculated to provoke him, he knew. Meant to make him…

Abruptly, without giving pause to think any more, he slid his fingers towards his own weapon, hooked into his belt—despite his lately acquired aversion to violence and light-sabres, long years of habit had kicked in, and he had clipped it on despite all misgivings. His fingers gripped the hilt with no hesitation whatsoever—he noted this with some surprise—and flicked the activation switch twice. The blue blade hissed into reassuring existence.

He shrugged out of his cloak in a leisurely manner, aware of the crowd's second, even more breathless reaction to his weapon, and almost smiled. They would be watching something not many citizens were privileges to watch, _en masse_—a Jedi master and his apprentice, sparring towards the Force alone knew what end.

Towards his left, he sensed, rather than saw King Zor's face break into a beatific smile—_did the monarch even know the ramifications of what was about to occur?_—and nod in approval. He watched Qui-Gon bow gracefully to the King; a move which he mirrored. Moving away from King Zor, Obi-Wan raised his own blade in front of his face in one easy sweep—a creditable manoeuvre in achieving the same sarcastic effect Qui-Gon had, he hoped.

Master and padawan stood facing each other for what appeared to be a full minute—until Qui-Gon raised his arm and threw the blue necklet into the air...and it flew past the steps, past the edge of the arena, almost into the centre of it, where it lay glinting in the evening light.

"Claim it—if you can."

Obi-Wan threw a brief look up at the heavens, gripped his light-sabre with what appeared to be slippery hands, ignored a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and advanced.

Before he could go two paces, however, his master had leapt forward, bringing his sabre down on his head—it took Obi-Wan every ounce of self-preservation he had mastered, to raise his sabre and stop the swing. The sabres clashed in one blinding flash of white light, and Obi-Wan felt a bone–jarring shudder go through his arms as he felt the sheer weight behind the blow.

He looked up in undisguised alarm at Qui-Gon through the sabres locked—and saw that the eyes were now midnight-blue—intense, and completely focussing on the moment. The master had, it appeared, decided to go on the offensive. Qui-Gon very rarely took the initiative in the field, always acting as per the tacit Jedi principle about waiting for battle to come to him, rather than seek it out. An admirable trait—but one that was not to be used, this time.

_Force, I can't match his power,_ was his last, coherent thought before he raised his sabre to deflect another blow that aimed for his left shoulder. He managed to thwart the blade—again, barely in time.

_Must get away,_ was a brief impulse that flashed through his mind as he abruptly turned away, using the Force to literally swirl out from under Qui-Gon, to somersault high into the air, landing half-way through the steps surrounding the arena. Gasps from among the audience reached him—he reflected, wryly, that they were about to receive their first real exhibition of true Jedi powers. _Assuming I survive that long._

A second's reprieve was allowed him as he wiped sweating palms on his tunic, as Qui-Gon followed him along the steps. Before the master could lash out the padawan had leapt up again, his body instinctively choosing the easiest and most flexible forms of escape. This time, he landed on the dusty ground of the arena. And noted, through the corner of his eyes, that it was of truly magnificent proportions.

Qui-Gon could not have picked a more convenient venue.

He sensed the audience automatically crane their heads along the barricade that separated them from the wide expanse in between, and flipped himself in time to evade another blow. Feeling the heat from Qui-Gon's blade almost scorch his ears—Qui-Gon's blade was calibrated for a much higher intensity than normal Jedi weaponry—he rolled away from his mentor, cautiously inching his way towards where the necklet lay.

He turned around, blade in hand, and watched Qui-Gon's eyes narrow. He had been well-coached by his teacher in such tactics, and smiled slightly. Obi-Wan could flip and twist and roll around for hours together; his small body was much more adapted to such tactics, and there was little Qui-Gon would do about it. _Victory—of sorts._

That, of course, was before he twisted himself upright—and rammed into a sheer wall of Force that had no business existing in the middle of the arena.

_Blast the sith hells of Corellia,_ was his first vicious thought as he barrelled full-tilt into the power-surge, and almost fell back, losing his light-sabre in the process. Qui-Gon had anticipated his strategy minutes ahead of himself, and had accomplished what he himself would have done, were he in his master's position—barricaded him from approaching the entire arena, and fencing him within a small part of it. The advantage of this was that Qui-Gon, despite his formidable Force prowess, could not hope to hold it forever.

The disadvantage was that he could probably hold it for a time enough to force Obi-Wan into submission.

He raised himself slowly, leaning on one elbow, staring at his mentor as Qui-Gon made his leisurely way towards him, green blade held now at a much easier stance. _He knows I can't do much,_ was Obi-Wan's bitter thought. _I'm defeated almost before we started._

As the Jedi master approached, it struck him that Qui-Gon's face did not really reflect any pleasure at this success. No teacher worth the title would take any delight in such a performance.

The Scaltian audience had gone completely silent.

Qui-Gon stopped a few feet away from his student, blue eyes looking at him in what appeared to be…revulsion? Obi-Wan blinked.

"Archivist T'shar would be pleased," observed the master, and Obi-Wan felt slightly sick. "Her able pupil has now accomplished a level of total, and complete inadequacy." He cocked his head, taking in Obi-Wan's position.

Obi-Wan let his eyes rest on the only thing that met his eyes from this angle—Qui-Gon's boots. Yes. T'shar would be pleased. _And I have refused to raise my sabre other than for defence tactics._

Why, then, did he feel so empty?

Above him, he saw Qui-Gon shake his head, as though conducting a conversation within himself. "Xanatos was undoubtedly the better swordsman."

A vibro-blade twisted itself into Obi-Wan's stomach. **_What?_**

He looked up at his master, eyes widened in disbelief; brows twisted in complete horror. "What?" he whispered.

"One of the ablest—and best. A pleasure to teach. An honour to watch." Qui-Gon's eyes flicked carelessly over the padawan, his manner conveying exactly what he thought of the present one.

They were words Obi-Wan had never hoped to hear from Qui-Gon—words he had always dreaded hearing during the first few years of his apprenticeship; words which he had thought, with confidence, that he would never hear again. They drove into him with all the brutal ferocity of a sand-cat; he swallowed resolutely, as he swallowed the insult.

His brain, it occured to Obi-Wan, had stopped functioning, and now seemed incapable of any kind of rational thought process. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

This was not happening. Xanatos was gone, after causing endless pain and misery to those he loved. One with the Force. The fallen Jedi no longer among those that lived.

And yet, Qui-Gon valued his previous padawan more.

A hitherto unknown surge of anger washed through him. Qui-Gon had _no right._ No right, to talk of him this way—to dismiss him so summarily; to treat him as though he were a clod of dirt from Tatooine. He was a warrior, trained in the arts of a Jedi; taught, made to learn, and immersed in martial arts ever since he had been able to speak. He was no novice. He could defeat a master, if he chose.

His own master.

He gritted his teeth. He would _not_ betray Qui-Gon, as Xanatos had done—he would not try to stick a virtual vibro-shiv in his back; or injure an unsuspecting opponent from behind—instead, he would prove his merit honourably; prove that he was the equal—nay, better than Xanatos. The best of those trained by Qui-Gon Jinn, master duellist, unequalled in the known galaxy in sabre tactics.

Almost involuntarily his eyes narrowed; palms closed into fists. _They don't feel wet anymore._ A faint buzzing sound, not unlike the oceans of Ta'akin wended its way through his brain…it was the sign that he had been waiting for, unconsciously; a sign that his body was preparing itself. A moment later, he raised his head, still half-lying on the ground.

_First things first._

"Wait," he murmured.

Qui-Gon stopped and turned, his eyes uninterested. "Yes, padawan mine?" The words were an insult.

Obi-Wan's lips curved into a bloodless smile. "I have a gift, if you will," he spoke. Abruptly, he flung his palm out…

…and a fist-full of fine, Scaltian sand found an easy target in Qui-Gon's face.

Behind him, Obi-Wan felt a rush of air—and it was what he had been waiting for. The Force-Wall built by Qui-Gon had abruptly crumbled into nothing, with the master's momentary distraction. Depending on the padawan's next move, it might re-build itself...or would stay in a rumpled mess.

Obi-Wan had decided what he would do, however. In a Force-aided flash, he stood up, calling his light-sabre to him in one easy sweep. "We have unfinished business, _my master_." He put as much emphasis on the last two words as he could, and had the satisfaction of seeing Qui-Gon's expression change.

The master's eyes raked over Obi-Wan's face, noting every change, every shift in expression, every tiny crease that would be evidence of the transformation taken place.

The change was apparent at once—gone were the lines of exhaustion, the dejected expression—and most of all…the eyes were no longer a deep, cloudy grey. Instead, they had now resolved into a deep, crystalline blue-green…the colour of enthusiasm. The colour of pride, of joy and of calm. Of eagerness, of victory. Of justice and peace, of a hard day's work well done.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi, the warrior._

"Do we, now?" Qui-Gon enquired mildly, his eyes belying what he felt in his heart of hearts.

"Very much so."

"Indeed."

Obi-Wan raised his sabre in an exact replica of the mock-salute that Qui-Gon had given him, minutes ago. "On guard, revered master mine."

With that, he gathered himself, and sprang in an easy leap towards Qui-Gon.

* * *

_**Tbc…**_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I know, I know. Long time, no update, and I left it all hanging up in the air. I ask you to forgive me (bribes her readers with another, long update) . Thanks for sticking with this, dear ones. Here you go!**

* * *

**X**

Years later, tales and sub-tales would still be told, passed down from one generation of Scaltians to their younglings seated on their laps, about how two Jedi had fought their way ceaselessly, one dusty evening in the grounds of Scalti. They would talk of a green 'sword of light' against a blue, of one small wiry frame battling against another tall, giant form, of strategy and unimagined power, hitherto only read in cheap holo-books that were circulated about Jedi, or vaguely learnt about from Holonews-net services.

For the present, however, the audience of Scalti were more than content to watch, gasp, and simply sit frozen in amazement, as battle raged in front of them.

Once the decision to fight back had been made, Obi-Wan found that he had no difficulty in accessing the Force or in planning tactics. Session upon session of endless sabre-practice had honed his skills; mission upon mission of facing the unknown and inconceivable had more than prepared him to deal with the unexpected.

The disadvantage - for it did exist - lay in the fact that in the training salle, he had sparred with a master willing to allow mistakes, to stop and teach him where he went wrong; in missions, he rarely faced Force sensitive light-sabre toting opponents.

On Scalti, however, Qui-Gon made it more than clear that he would allow no lapses. Worse, that he would take advantage of lapses, if any, in a way no teacher would of his student.

Once he had accepted the salute with a peculiar smile that had lasted barely a second, the master had met his charge with all the skill and power available in his formidable repertoire. Green sabre clashed with blue, a distinct _'whumm...'_ permeating the air - along with the peculiar smell that always accompanied an activated sabre.

It was soon apparent to Obi-wan that he would have to fall back on much more than sheer parries and thrusts - he would have to take recourse to certain unorthodox tactics...not for nothing was Qui-Gon Jinn one of the most powerful Jedi in the current, existing Order. Strangely enough, the thought did not seem unpalatable to him, now - it rather added to the under-current of slightly guilty exultation he was now feeling, much to his surprise. As long as he employed no down-right under-handed methods...

He checked their bond one last time - and found that it was as expected. Qui-Gon had shut him out completed; not an inkling could be had of his master's mental state. He was, to all intents and purposes, on his own.

_Well, two can play at that game_...and he raised his shields as far as he was able.

Locked in their own minds they might be - but they had been each other's sparring partners for years together; experience and observation gave a hand where telepathy could not.

Both were exponents of Form IV - an acrobatic, graceful technique that allowed for great dexterity and Force-assisted feints and thrusts. Qui-Gon was an early exponent of this sabre-method, and this was what he had imparted to his padawans - to all his padawans - but to Obi-Wan it had come naturally; his lithe body, it seemed, was much more attuned to the positions advocated by it. On occasion, master and apprentice had applied themselves to Form III, a manoeuvre especially suited to avoid blaster fire - in this instance, however, that was unnecessary.

Obi-Wan had not quite known, in early years, about why his master preferred the wildly athletic Form IV - common sense told him that Qui-Gon was built along lines that required a steady, stay-in-a-place tactic that would more than suffice. Later, he would understand that this was exactly what any opponent would expect of Qui-Gon...and the master had sought to take advantage of such misconceptions by deliberately adopting a far more complicated sabre-defence. And then, there was that quirk of odd humour in Qui-Gon Jinn's character that delighted in doing the unexpected. It sometimes occurred to Obi-Wan that his master chose to live his entire life in simply defying others' misconceptions of what a Jedi master ought to be like.

It was, however, very much in character for him to use this quirk in battle, and baffle his opponents. Such as moving his light-sabre from left to right in a perfectly-timed sequence, and then breaking the orderly chain by suddenly thrusting it between his knees - a move which drew a startled gasp from Obi-Wan, and then left him floundering to re-group his defences. Only for a second, though. Clarity returned the next second, and he retaliated by throwing a punch at his master's presently unguarded throat. Qui-Gon avoided it - but his slightly ungraceful twist infused him with hope.

Again and again their light-sabres met, their feet moving, it appeared, all over the arena. Qui-Gon, as might be expected, used his considerable height to rain a torrent of seemingly unending blows - each of which, to Obi-Wan, appeared to have all the power of a vicious rancor thundering at its enemy in full force. To battle each of these blows with his physical might was well nigh impossible - plain brawn would not be enough, and Obi-Wan was aware that his master expected more. With his decision to fight, it appeared that Qui-Gon's attitude too, had changed - gone was the sarcastic twist of lips, and the revulsion - his eyes had now regained their usual sparkle; a sign that the master had now slipped into his element. Obi-Wan watched it, marvelled...and despite himself, a trickle of reassurance seeped into his mind.

The Force hummed its reassuring strength as the padawan curled up into himself; twisting out from underneath an almost unavoidable strangle-hold, and vaulted into the air. A pity that the arena did not possess poles or ledges - there were no artificial or natural obstructions to use as a tool. He required respite - and his eyes picked out the only piece of construction available at hand...the barricade that separated the audience from the contestants.

They were now battling their way alongside one end of the arena - the spectators shrank back as they saw the Jedi approach the barricade. Closer, closer...abruptly, Obi-Wan swung himself onto the fence, using Qui-Gon's shoulders for leverage - and had twisted himself out of light-sabre range, as Qui-Gon raised his arms in an attempt to grasp him and push him to the ground. The padawan twisted himself into an intricate triple somersault, moving much too fast for Qui-Gon to anticipate the next position his body might take...

...and landed ten paces nearer to the blue necklet.

He had managed to keep the prize within sight; it would not do to forget that this was what he aimed for all along. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Qui-Gon indulge in a brief grin, as the master threw himself into a Force assisted somersault himself, effectively reaching the necklet a pace ahead of himself. Obi-Wan registered a Force-push, as he felt himself being thrown back a few feet, grazing his elbows.

"Not...an easy...task, padawan mine," Qui-Gon breathed, as Obi-Wan understood anew that this was no rule-governed sparring match. He launched himself against the master, his blue sabre gleaming against the ever-darkening sky.

Anger - white-hot, and burning through every pore in his body - surged through the padawan. It was what he had been advocated _not_ to do, in any situation, and in his defence, he tried to tamp down on it - but it leaked through his shielding, nevertheless.

_Slash. Block. Thrust. Block again._

The green blade almost blinded him, and he shook his head briefly, his eyes throwing bizarre spots of light through his vision. His tunic registered a long scorch mark, however, and an unpleasant burning smell ensued.

The smell triggered memories...

"I..." he huffed. "...am more than capable..." slash, _block_" - of winning whatever I - " breathe, breathe, breathe"...wish to..." Lunge, sidestep, roll underneath him, _roll..._

Qui-Gon smiled and brought his sabre at his waist, almost taking advantage of the opening he had inadvertently left - which the padawan managed to block with ease.

The weakness was slipping away, along with his ever-present fear of whether he would ever do battle again - the light-sabre was a part of him now, as was his arm, or legs...it now appeared inconceivable to him that he had ever thought otherwise. Abruptly, the anger melted way - leaving behind a strange euphoria that shot through him as he evaded yet another blow from his ever-imaginative master - this one aimed at his ankles. In his turn, he pierced a defence through Qui-Gon's unguarded right shoulder, leaving a long trail of burnt tunic. The master's eyes widened in surprise. And narrowed in determination.

_Blast, do I actually have a chance of winning over him, after all these years?_ The possibility was beginning to occur to him and he executed the _Ze'erre_ manoeuvre, slashing his sabre at Qui-Gon's neck, only to have it thwarted at the last possible moment. It was to be expected that Qui-Gon would ward off the blow - on the other hand, the defence was now imperceptibly slower.

_How could I have ever thought I hated this?_ He wondered, as skipped about nimbly, leaping to his left as Qui-Gon's blade swung towards his knees.

"Your aim, padawan,-" Qui-Gon swept his weapon down to Obi-Wan's neck, his feet almost kicking Obi-Wan on his back "...is to win..." - a tumble - "...the necklet..." He chuckled, heat of battle notwithstanding. "You appear to have not lost an iota of your skills."

"I was taught well..." Obi-Wan gasped, flipping on his back, and rolling over to escape the green sabre - Qui-Gon's earlier provocation had escaped his memory - and now the battle, only the battle remained. "By the best duellist, they say - " The padawan jumped up, and hopped back a foot. _Time for a slight change of tactics..._

He drew his sabre and set about indulging in a flurry of swift, sharp strokes - short, staccato movements that scattered Qui-Gon's concentration, bathing himself in an effusion of blue light. The crowd threw a sigh of wonder, as heads reached over others to watch.

Qui-Gon raised eye-brows in spite of himself, recognizing a few strokes that wove too closely to Obi-Wan for him to attempt to break them - movements that he was distinctly sure that he had not taught his padawan. He jumped back as Obi-Wan's sabre drew blood from his fore-arm. "_Form VII_?" He drew a deep breath as his mind analyzed the strokes, trying to tear a hole into his student's defences. "I haven't led you into those _yet_..." Another jump brought him to the padawan's left. _Think, think, think..._

Obi-Wan grinned - a pure, scintillating smile that drove away all that was left of his previous lack of confidence - left behind, thought Qui-Gon, was the fighter he had taken a delight in teaching, who would one day be able to defend, and protect...and become what he was destined to be. _A warrior and peace-keeper par excellence._

"When I said 'best duellist'..." Obi-Wan breathed in deeply, a chuckle of pure exhilaration erupting from him as he blocked each of Qui-Gon's strokes surely, exerting slightly more power than usual, "I was speaking of..." - More blocks, and parries - "Master Windu. He...used to give me a few...tips!" He gasped, flinging himself out of the way as the master finally spotted his weak point - one that he had been hoping would go undiscovered. Not Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan wrestled furiously, guarding himself with tight strokes - which the master finally broke, with an accurate swipe at his feet. He twirled himself away from Qui-Gon's sabre, almost spraining his arm in the process, and ignoring a few feminine shrieks of delight from his audience.

"Wretch..." Was the master's answer, as he chuckled in turn, abruptly leaping over the padawan in a successful attempt to block Obi-Wan nimble spring. He was familiar with Master Windu's style of sparring, and had quickly spotted a loophole - and slashed his way past Obi-Wan's sabre. "It takes a lifetime and more to be a Form VII exponent - and besides, who exactly _is_ your master, impudent one?"

"Why - " the padawan pondered, as he threw himself into a series of graceful cartwheels. "It would appear...- " he stopped, aiming a kick at Qui-Gon's abdomen, " - to be you...!"

As Qui-Gon grabbed his leg and halted the kick midway, he threw himself in an acrobatic twist, and brought the side of his palm in a sharp flick towards Qui-Gon's neck. The manoeuvre resulted in both of them tumbling to the ground in a welter of arms and legs.

The Force thrummed through Obi-Wan, beating through his blood in a sheer thrill of delight and joy. This was what he had trained to do all his life; this was what he had taken such delight in doing, all those hours both within the Temple, and without. This had saved civilians, politicians, even smugglers and pirates. This had been taught to him by his elders in the hope that he would save those who were not capable of saving themselves. This weapon, which only a few, a very very privileged few were given the opportunity to possess was to be treasured as a jewel; the most precious jewel, an element of the Force, given to him for safe-keeping. He was a _not_ a mindless, precise droid, meant to keep order by protocol and method - he was meant to feel, to laugh, to cry, to live, and by the same token, to allow others the opportunity of living.

_To live._

Their sabres locked themselves; abruptly, he found himself almost nose to nose with Qui-Gon; dimly, he registered that the master's cheek was torn - a trickle of blood had worn its way through his neck. They held their positions for a second, drawing huge breaths, each gazing into the other's eyes. Blue-green eyes met intense midnight blue ones; even in the failing Scaltian twilight, Obi-Wan saw his master's eyes glitter.

"Was Xanatos a better swordsman?" He asked, breath hitching from exertion.

Qui-Gon's lips twitched.

"_Was_ Xanatos better?"

A low chuckle reached Obi-Wan. "No, my padawan. He was _not_."

Obi-Wan's eyes gleamed. "Thank you."

In an instant, they pulled away, and resumed positions.

Technically, two Jedi who were well-matched could fight a very long time indeed - and by any standard, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had fought long enough. A resolution had to be reached quickly.

They had fought in ever-widening circles in the beginning, which had narrowed down, growing smaller and smaller, as Qui-Gon more than matched Obi-Wan's attempts to get nearer to the necklet. The ground below was scuffed with their boot-marks, and long grooves had been etched in the ground where light-sabres had inadvertently grazed them. Dust rose and hung about the combatants in a haze.

They were now less than three or four paces away from the chain of metal, and the padawan was now aware of his declining strength. Breathing was becoming rapidly more difficult; he coughed more than once, trying desperately to breath air rather than fine sand. A faint probe of the Force showed that even Qui-Gon, to a lesser degree, was beginning to feel the first signs of exhaustion. It would end soon, he knew.

And end it did. Surprisingly quickly.

He had expended most of his energy in trying to get around Qui-Gon's defences, and the rest had been spent in trying to reach the necklet. He made a frantic lunge towards the necklet, throwing out the Force by a wave of his hand, anticipating the energy that Qui-Gon had sent out to thwart him. He was at the end of his efforts, and he suddenly found that to expend equal energy on both the sabre and the Force was impossible. He needed a moment, desperately. To gather defences, to plot his next course of action...

His hands wove a half-hearted pattern in the air; blue light swung through the air indecisively. Within a moment, his sabre had been knocked out of his hand. He fell flat on his back, and Qui-Gon pressed his sabre to his neck, one knee resting on his chest.

Stillness.

Against his clammy skin, the heat even felt comfortable - a notch too close and it would cut through his skin, he knew. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, trying to blot out the bright green light, sensing, at the same time, that the audience had cowered into a tense silence.

Obi-Wan acknowledged the rest with relief - his back was aching, in any case. In some obscure way, he was glad he had not bested his master with a sabre. He could not have, he realized. Qui-Gon Jinn, was, without doubt, one of the best sabre-masters alive; regardless of what tricks and tips he had used, they had been blunted against the greatest weapon in Qui-Gon's armoury: experience. Experience, presence of mind, and sheer, brutal will-power.

He had the seedlings of such powers, Obi-wan knew. Under his master's careful nurturing, they had taken root, and were growing; given time, he would achieve what Qui-Gon had achieved. He _knew_ that he would. And knew, that Qui-Gon too, knew this. In time.

_For now, however..._

Still breathing hard, he twisted his head upwards - only to see the blue necklet lying barely two feet away, gleaming palely in the diminishing light. Abruptly, he reached towards it - to find it snatched up through the Force - dangling in front of his eyes at a height of four feet.

He felt, rather than saw Qui-Gon smile. "Not so fast, young one...not so easily, either." The master looked down at the flushed face of his apprentice. "Do you yield?"

Obi-Wan smiled in turn. "Must I?"

"Your light-sabre is no longer in your hands...I would call that defeat, if I were you."

"Indeed. And if you cast your senses about, you would find..." Qui-Gon looked back at him, brows furrowed. "You would find my fingers at a certain point on your neck - that will render you unconscious in a second, if I chose."

Qui-Gon paused, doing exactly what Obi-Wan and recommended - and released a deep breath. Blast, but the whelp was correct - Obi-Wan's hand had slipped through his hold at the precise moment he put his sabre to the padawan's neck - it was now hovering inches above his own neck, one finger settling on clammy chestnut hair. _Force, how had he not noticed that?_

"You were concentrating on Force-pushing me from the necklet..." murmured the padawan. "After all, your rule was that I _best_ you." _If not with a light-sabre, at least with..._

Qui-Gon weighed his options, his attention unwaveringly focussed on the sabre, the necklet, and slightly on the fingers that rested on his neck. "From a certain, very technical point of view..." Lips quivering, he stared back at his apprentice, who rested on the ground, smiling faintly. "I _knew_ I shouldn't have taught you those Force-pinches." The master's eyes gleamed with a strange light. "...And I could drive my sabre into your neck the moment you did use it on me. I would lose consciousness - but I would have-ah-accomplished my purpose."

"True." Obi-Wan's smile broadened. "Were we inclined to do so, we'd end up-er-effectively immobilising each other."

_An impasse._ Imbalanced, still...

"Since you show an inclination to get technical, let me tell you that this is hardly a clear victory," Qui-Gon glanced back at the necklet, still dangling in the air. "You are yet to retrieve your prize, padawan. Perhaps I shall consider that as a proper ending to..." He threw an eloquent gaze at his sabre. "...this." He paused. "If you cannot, you _will_ admit defeat."

Obi-Wan blinked. The challenging look had returned to Qui-Gon's eyes. The apprentice stared back into them, trying to read...to read...his eyes narrowed as he glanced at Qui-Gon speculatively. Once or twice, he had seen that look - that look that promised of a way - a way if he could only see it. There was a faint twinkle in those midnight blue orbs...

_Where the sword fails, even a blade of grass may come in useful..._

...except that there was no grass to use, here.

Obi-Wan had never been so aware of the hushed silence that prevailed over the arena. He swallowed, turning his gaze rather uncomfortably on the sabre that was so close to his neck. Debating his options, he turned towards his own sabre, lying a few feet away. He sensed Qui-Gon ascertain his intentions, and the grip on the sabre brushing his throat tightened. He moved his finger slightly from the spot on Qui-Gon's neck as though intending to exert more pressure, breathed as far as the knee on his chest would allow, and gathered his wits. Qui-Gon was certainly not going to release him lightly. He concentrated on his sabre again, trying to Force-pull it, inch by inch.

_Shield, shield, shield..._

Above him, Qui-Gon frowned slightly.

_Surprise is the essence of..._

Qui-Gon's hair fell from his shoulders, reaching his tunic in its length. Abruptly, Obi-Wan moved his fingers and pulled at Qui-Gon's hair, wrenching the older Jedi's head away from him. The master gasped slightly - for all that, however, his hold on the sabre did not loosen. Part of his Force senses now focussed themselves on Obi-Wan's fingers, while the rest was on the sabre. The Force power holding the necklet wavered for a split-second...

...enough for Obi-Wan, in an Force-enhanced lunge against the poised sabre, to gather the last of his energy, thrust it out in a powerful rush of the Force, and wrench the necklet from the air.

It fell - half on his face, and half on his head, with a very satisfying _clink._

Master and apprentice stared at each other for a long, long moment.

Qui-Gon's lips were quirking up into the tentative beginnings of a smile, while Obi-Wan looked back, quite unable to control his own mirth - his fingers still clutching Qui-Gon's hair.

"The Council always did warn me to keep my hair in order," Qui-Gon murmured. "Wretched brat."

The tense silence seemed to shatter into fragments - and he threw back his head, breaking into a hearty laugh. A moment later, Obi-Wan joined him, shaking with mirth.

The audience murmured in its turn, confounded by the turn of events, and a frantic buzzing arose.

"I am _not_ a weakling," stated Obi-Wan with great dignity - as much dignity as one could gather, while lying flat on his back in a dusty arena. Qui-Gon smiled down at his apprentice, eyes greatly softened.

"No."

"Xanatos was _not_ a better swordsman than I am."

"Certainly not."

"How long will I need to become an exponent of Form III, do you think?"

Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled. "A very long time, I hope, my little one." He removed his sabre from his apprentice's throat in one fluid moment, pulled Obi-Wan into a sitting position, and placed the chain on the padawan's neck, adjusting it so that its brilliant blue stone lay perfectly on his chest.

Obi-Wan looked up, clear blue-green eyes glittering. "Thank you," he said gently.

The buzzing noise increased in intensity.

Qui-Gon knelt in front of him, and tipped his chin, so that he looked full into the master's face. "Welcome back, my Obi-Wan."

Twilight vanished at long last, and the first, faint stars began to glow in an almost-black sky.

As the Scaltian audience took its cue and promptly went insane, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn finally threw unbending Jedi behaviour and decorum to the winds, and engulfed his padawan in a crushing, suffocating embrace...

...and if the apprentice rubbed his palms over his eyes one too many times, or his master blinked much too rapidly for a normal human - it had become too dark for any discerning Scaltian citizen to have noticed it.

* * *

_**Tbc**… yes, I'm evil… _


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Gods, I'm so sorry about the lack of update – I just kept writing more and more stuff. Thanks to my lovely reviewers, **My padawan, Shandrial, ****Pirate Rhi, ****The Dancing Cavalier, ****Viva-la-Resistance, ****amber75****, starfish, ****Katieelessar, ****ForsakenOn, ****Mysterious Jedi****, Erisinia, ****Estel Baggins, ****ally127, ****Out Of Phase, ****iron-eyes24.** You guys are the da best.

How I wrote the fight scenes: I just visualised it – I'm no martial arts expert, so I write what I see. :)

This chapter and the ones following, are for you.

* * *

**XI**

_Warm._

That was the first thing that came to Obi-Wan's mind, as his mind slowly struggled its way to consciousness - of sorts. His memory was jumbled with alternatively murky and vividly sharp recollections...and even in his dreams he heard his own voice - the voice of his mind dimly categorizing each memory as it wove itself out.

_Warm...and comfortable._

Half his mind tried to involve itself in his surroundings - assuming he could ever get an idea about them...while the other grappled with memories of bright lights, a sound like a dull roar of the oceans, and many beaming smiles, handshakes, bows, - and wide, awed eyes. Eyes. Eyes that followed him everywhere; Eyes that had not given him more than a cursory glance before, but which now clung to his every movement as though they were being classified, catalogued, and filed away for future reference.

He smiled to himself, more than three-fourths dreaming that he was - it had been rather ridiculous, even then. _When?_ Oh yes, immediately after their - _contest_, for lack of a better word.

Almost at once his mind wrenched itself away from an effort to identify surroundings - the warrior in him begged to go through every move and counter-move that had been made; every stroke, parry and thrust; which one had been right, which one had been faulty, and which one downright stupid - like his last stroke that had enabled Qui-Gon to knock off his sabre - _Master...? Where? Qui-Gon...where? Where?..._

Something touched his mind and soothed him, then - giving an assurance that all was right with the galaxy, and that he _must_ go back to...wherever it was he had come from.

And he did. It was so easy, slipping back to those dark, comforting depths he had been buried in - if only his errant mind would stop flicking through dozens of memories...

...Princess Roe. He chuckled in his sleep as a mind-picture of the rosy, plump princess rose in his mind. She had been so very...enthusiastic about gaining his acquaintance. As far as Scaltian customs had allowed. And then there had been King Zor, who had almost wrung his hand off, so very impressed had he been. And that dull roar - that had been the Scaltian multitude going insane...strange how a mass of people could drown out an ocean, when they chose. They had broken through the barricades, he remembered idly - leaping across pitiful defences meant more as a token defence, rather than strongly constructed fortresses. He remembered how Qui-Gon had pulled his wrist in a vice-like grip, and had practically dragged him off the arena, in an effort to escape a barrage of people, whose emotion suddenly battered at his mind - emotions of awe, wonder and an overpowering tumult of respect and admiration. They had seen a spectacular display; and were now overwhelmed. And they were intent on showing exactly _how_ much they had been overwhelmed.

This was why the Jedi insisted on such impeccable mind control, he mused - to be in control of one's own emotions was hard enough - to be able to shut out outside influences was even more difficult. And it would cost them dearly, he knew, if he slipped up. It had been the cause of more than error, on countless missions other Jedi went on...

_Dub. Dub. Dub. Dub..._

He knit his brows. _Noise. What was that noise?. Strangely familiar..._

He gave up trying to understand what the noise was within a moment - _too much trouble_. It was much easier to focus, however half-heartedly he did so, on the close-to-insane rush that had been the aftermath of the...'duel'? Well, yes, if it could be called that. Qui-Gon's mind had been open to his own, for a brief period - oh, what a relief it had been to finally feel the approval, delight, and...yes, relief. His master had been glad to see him back 'in form', as he had phrased it a moment earlier. And he had been glad - so very glad, that Qui-Gon had not really meant what he said...what he said about his previous padawan. _He hadn't, had he?_ He frowned in sleep. _He hadn't._

There was that smooth touch again...urging him into deeper sleep. Where was Qui-Gon?

_Dub. Dub. Dub._

He was becoming used to that muffled sound - it seemed to him that he must know its origins; that he had known it previously...but his mind seemed wrapped in _gerb_-wool, and wouldn't respond. Instead, it kept leading him along other recollections...

The Seula'anians, he thought - their reactions had been...puzzling. The Premier had acknowledged them with a brief bow, had looked deeply into both their eyes, and then whisked himself and his aides off. Strange people with their turbans and beak noses. Although the way they were built and moved indicated that they were well-versed in combat. Were they? He didn't know enough. Perhaps Qui-Gon would know - his master had a knack for picking up information in the most curious ways.

_Information..._

T'shar.

_Oh Force, T'shar_. He frowned. The name stuck in his mind like an errant piece of food in his molars...it resisted all his efforts to move past her; it slid away from his grasp. Thankfully, its hold on his mind was equally tenuous.

He wriggled, then, his body communicating his mind's need to rest at ease; wriggled and squirmed against something warm, soft and very comfortable, with that strange, _'dub'_bing sound.

Abruptly, the side of his head grew warm - as though someone had pressed a hot cloth to his head. He sent a brief thought of gratitude towards...towards whoever was being so thoughtful. Ridiculous, really. He knew of only one person who would care enough to -

_Sleep_, something - someone? - commanded.

The images vanished, leaving him in peace, and he dropped off into complete unconsciousness.

* * *

Popular report - popular report in the mid-rim, anyway - painted Scaltian storms as a gift of nature. A feast to the eyes, if one relished such displays. It was a sight to see great storm clouds, grey and weighed down with moisture, sweep down the skies, and watch the tall, scraggly _pulme_ trees sway gently in the sudden, brief, gusts of cool wind, branches waving in very direction as though eagerly welcoming the approaching storm.

And the mountains...Scaltian mountains were not the high, pristine white peaks that some planets possessed, but rather small, densely vegetated hills that rose in gentle humps into the sky. To see the gently wooded, dark green hills against the dark grey sky, growing darker by the second was a beautiful sight. The brief spatter of water that heralded heavier, more intense showers; the brief, increasingly sharper bursts of wind...it was an excellent excuse to simply burrow down into the warmest clothes one could find, sit anywhere that allowed for uninterrupted viewing of the scenery - and simply give oneself up to nature...

...as Jedi master Qui-Gon Jinn had done, seating himself on one of the darkened stone corridors the Scaltian Palace seemed to be lavishly endowed with. Three large pillars, and a curved stone-shade separated him from the elements - which was shelter enough.

It would be an interesting demonstration for anyone with a love for nature...to Qui-Gon, it was a taste of nectar - tangible in its sweetness, reassuring in its primal form - in touch, as he was, with the Living Force, a slight dip into the energy that encompassed all that lay before him was enough to send him into meditation. Meditation that was smooth, serene, flowing with the endless energy that was the Force, and richly rewarding.

It was a dance. A dance of beauty; of peace - it held one within it's mesmerising thrall so much that one was in danger losing one's self completely. The more the connection grew, the more the irresistible urge to simply give up life, and waft away into it...

Few of the Unifying Force realised exactly how colourful the Force truly was - more and more was it beginning to be used as a handy tool in case of emergencies; to pull a weapon, to throw open doors - he smiled. _To fling sand into one's face, too._

He had been free to wrap himself up in the Living Force as much as he chose while he was a young Knight - it had made him one of the most difficult of Jedi to work with, he noted with amusement. Many were the complaints that had been made against him.

_"Impulsive. Reckless." _

" '**Instinct'**, he says. What instinct?"

"Must think more..."

"**'I will do what I must...'**? What kind of a justification is that?"

Oh, the warnings - tempered they had been; but they had been subtle, and sometimes not so subtle proddings to him to do his duty. Not to just do it as he saw it, but to do it the way others did. The 'Unifying Force' way.

A ripple of irritation passed through him and he clamped down on it, as he had done for years. They did not _understand_. The Force raged at him sometimes; it raved and ranted and shrieked at him. It did not _tell_ him; did not speak softly...well, it did, such as at times like these...but the shrieks were there too, like insistent dust particles against paristeel surfaces. Abrading. Demanding to be noticed. They would not let him _be_.

At such times, he was reminded of one of Master Dooku's more famous...or infamous sayings: _"The Force is an insatiable mistress."_

An image of the tall, elegant master rose in his mind, and he closed his eyes briefly. Aside from warmth, Dooku always brought to the surface the vague, undefined confusion that lurked in a corner of his consciousness. He shook his head, and brought his mind forcibly...to the Force.

He took to meditation when its insistence began to take on an aspect of insanity - to know whether he himself was truly obeying the Force, or finding ways to justify his own impulsive actions...as other Jedi seemed to think. It had been maddening in the beginning...but a certain tenacious streak in him had battled with it again and again and again - until the Force seemed to acknowledge his mastery over some it's aspects, and rather resignedly gave him its insights. Its voice had grown softer then, as though it acknowledged his battle.

Sometimes, however, he could not help mulling over whether what his peers thought about his actions appeared to be true. He _had_ been known to commit certain spectacular follies, after all. With Xanatos. He had been warned; again and again. He had failed, nevertheless. His heart still ached as though a long-forgotten wound had begun to twinge. And there had been other missions..._Bandomeer_? Master Yoda, with his huge, bulbous eyes that seemed to understand, who pushed him along certain directions. Mace Windu, his long-time friend who sincerely tried to grapple with his strange and often inconceivable whims and fancies. Tahl, who had often smiled at his odd humours, yet had known him enough to understand his overwhelming urge to right every wrong in the galaxy...and yet obey the Force, the Council, his conscience and anything else that sought to exert an influence over Qui-Gon Jinn.

And then, this boy.

This boy who, for reasons unknown was devoted to him, and had in return, actually wrangled equal, if not more devotion from _him_ - the hardened Jedi that he was. _Hardened? So sure, are you?_ whispered a voice inside.

Some day, when he hoped to meet the Force in its true form, he would ask why it had bestowed him with such a one - one who had been a skinny little slip of a boy when he had first taken him on as an apprentice, and a far cry from being anything but a student...and who was now the only one who would carry on the legacy of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, diplomat, negotiator, and duellist extraordinaire.

Also, of his most valuable possession - his self.

He looked down at the securely wrapped up bundle that lay half in his arms and half in his lap, and gently peeled away a part of his cloak to reveal Obi-Wan's face. The eyes were shut, there were dark circles under them, and the face was pale - but there was more colour in the cheeks than there had been, hours ago. Even in this near-darkness, he could see enough. And then there was the Force, which assured him that the boy was merely exhausted, nothing more. No broken bones or damaged ribs...just aches and pains concentrated in the calf-muscles - and that he would deal with when the younger Jedi was awake.

For the past hour, Obi-Wan's mind had been clamouring towards wakefulness - he had felt the padawan's brain flick over images, voices, and memories again and again, in a vain attempt to crawl back to reality. Each time, he had pushed the young man towards deeper sleep - recognizing that the mind was merely transmitting the body's need for rest...as usual, in its maddening, confusing way. But then, pain and exhaustion often caused a half-awake itchiness - never giving relief, yet demanding it.

He supposed Jedi were fortunate, in that respect - they had access to a power source few acknowledged. He smiled slightly at the way he himself now thought of it as a tool, rather than an all-encompassing energy.

_Ah, but I am still human._

He had used it immediately after the State Dinner - a noisier, and more raucous affair than usual, that had followed their contest...amusement rose in him as he remembered the frantic rush of euphoria that had washed over the arena in a wave. As always, it had created a spark of contentment; an emotion that always succeeded after a particularly accomplished display. It had broken through the overwhelming sense of relief he had felt, after those first few, immobilising moments of Obi-Wan's...refusal to fight.

He resolutely pushed away the immense dread and a certain sinking feeling he had felt, as he had watched the padawan escape his blade - _now is not the time._

Perhaps it was his own unsettled state of mind that was disturbing the apprentice...if so, he would have to calm himself considerably, again - as he had done during the state dinner, which had taxed even his own seemingly unending patience. It had taxed Obi-Wan, he knew. That young man had been drooping mentally, in steady manner that assured Qui-Gon of imminent collapse - he had expended too much energy in putting up a good fight, in showing Scaltian royalty proper respect, and in trying to pick at his food in the Royal Dining Halls, while simultaneously being engaged in half a dozen conversations...Qui-Gon had sent a surreptitious flow of strength towards his padawan all along. It had helped - but it had not been a permanent solution. He had made his suave excuses to the King and his family about 'Jedi meditation techniques', and about 'peace, solitude and the Force...' - all of which had been dutifully gobbled up by an entranced audience.

Then, he had escorted Obi-Wan out of the chambers - and the padawan, who had been holding himself as stiffly as a _pulme_ tree himself, had shot Qui-Gon a look of great relief, before crumpling against him in a boneless heap.

The master had wasted no time in calling for assistance; he had simply hefted the young man, thrown him over his shoulder, and walked off towards a place of respite he had encountered during one of his wanderings that afternoon. He had reached the stone corridor that faced the Royal Gardens, bundled up Obi-Wan in cloaks and over-tunics, and set him down on the ground. The place was sufficiently isolated and peaceful - the Palace was busy with festivities, and no one had any business to come here, he knew.

And then he had walked away to take care of urgent business - a certain communication that had been put off for weeks already...

When he came back, Obi-Wan had slipped from deep unconsciousness to exhausted sleep - and did not appear to have moved at all. Storm clouds had already begun to blot out the stars, and stiff winds had begun short, sharp gusts across the plains. Qui-Gon sat down in as sheltered a part of the corridor as possible, gathered the padawan into his arms, covered his eyes to secure him from the lightning flashes that would inevitably follow...and settled down to wait.

An hour later, as the storm steadily gathered in strength, a particularly sharp flash of lightning shot its way through the corridor - followed at once by a _crack_ of thunder that rolled through the heavens like a huge building crumbling in a blast of explosives.

Obi-Wan awoke.

* * *

**_Tbc..._**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks so much to all you guys for the reviews. I know I've been tardy – but blame DRL. :D But I have written a lot more, and I'll post as regularly as I can. **

* * *

**XII**  


_"...tell me. How many missions have you undertaken? How many blasters have you faced? How many trained and skilful assassins have tried to hack you, and how many politicians, Emperors, Princes, and traders have you protected?" _

Her eyes had lost none of their defiance - but it occurred to him that it was now more a show of maintaining dignity, rather than any real wish to defy him.

"I have been on missions outside the Temple."

"Thrice, since your knighting, which took place six years ago. One of which was to Alderaan, as one of three Jedi meant to communicate classified information to Senator Wan'a - a mission which was not endangered, in any way - "

"And I was more than well aware of the dangers that accompanied my mission - "

His voice cut in, sharp as the slice of a sabre. "You will **not** interrupt while I speak, Madame—surely that is not too much to ask from such a learned one?"

She capitulated—he almost caught the slight flick of surprise at her decision to do so. Then, a certain smug look entered her tightly drawn face, violet eyes shining like gems. He had to admit that her control was impeccable. "I beg pardon," she answered, her voice steady, and he was aware of her intention to do battle, even across the distance. "Kindly proceed, Master Jinn."

He stared at her, knowing that his eyes reflected none of what he truly felt, and that his face remained calm and serene. "Certainly, Archivist T'shar. Six weeks ago - "

As the rumble of thunder echoed its way through the horizon, Qui-Gon felt the first stirrings of wakefulness from Obi-Wan, and opened his eyes. He was aware of the training bond sparking to slow life; bits and pieces of images and conversation spinning through their connection.

"Explosion?" he felt Obi-Wan's bright blue-green eyes staring him, wide and uncertain, and felt his body tense. "Where's the explosion?"

He looked down, then, and smiled. "There is no explosion, padawan," he said, bringing a hand to brush his cloak from the apprentice's eyes. "Merely a storm. And a magnificent one, at that."

Obi-Wan frowned, and the master could feel the faint confusion and grogginess that always followed an abrupt return to the waking world. "Storm?" murmured the padawan, twisting himself slightly to look around him—and became aware of his surroundings. "What..." he began, as he felt himself wrapped in cloaks and tunics, and suddenly understood why the _'dub_'bing noise he had heard in his sleep sounded so familiar—Qui-Gon's heartbeat.

"Oh," he breathed, feeling a sudden twinge of embarrassment. "Master, I..." he began, and then stopped. "What...where?"

"You collapsed outside the Dining Chambers...and I carried you here." He noted a second embarrassed twinge, and the smile grew. "You were exhausted, padawan."

Obi-Wan appeared to rouse himself more, though his eyes were still heavy with sleep. He squirmed, trying to sit up; Qui-Gon assisted him in his efforts until the padawan was shifted, somewhat awkwardly, it must be admitted - and arranged him alongside him, back resting on the stone wall. The air had grown cooler, and he tightened the clasp of his own cloak around the apprentice. He himself felt little but welcome relief from the air; Obi-wan was not so inclined to such coolness, he knew.

His knowledge of Obi-Wan's likes and dislikes was re-confirmed as the padawan drew closer to Qui-Gon involuntarily. "Why here, and not our own Chambers?"

"For one thing, our Chambers are more than three floors above, and I was not inclined to offer tiresome explanations about why I was carrying you, what your ailment, if any, was - and for another..." His voice trailed away.

Obi-Wan smiled slightly, embarrassment fast vanishing. "You couldn't stay away from the storm, could you?"

_"...had you but known your apprentice well, Master Jinn, you would have foreseen..."_

"You know me well, padawan. No, I could not resist it." He threw a glance at the form huddled up beside him. "If you wish, however, we can go back - "

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I would like to stay here," he spoke, as they watched the trees straggling widely in the dark sky. "It's been a long time since I saw a storm, anyway. Coruscant..." he paused. "Coruscant does not allow such discrepancies, as the Weather Control is inclined to call it." He finished, eyes gleaming.

Qui-Gon smiled, in turn. "They prefer an orderly existence, and that's not very surprising." He paused. "You're not cold, are you?"

"I'm comfortable enough. In fact, I would've melted in sweltering heat, were it not for the winds," Obi-Wan chuckled. Qui-Gon noted, with some relief, that the apprentice's mind seemed relaxed—he appeared to have derived some benefit from the few hours of rest.

"Good."

Silence reigned for a few moments, as another flash of lightning cut through the air, and Qui-Gon sensed his apprentice squeeze his eyes shut, preparing himself mentally for the thunder that would follow. When it did, it rolled through the skies as though the heavens had fallen.

"Well," he heard a murmur. "That was...loud."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "A spectacular understatement, that." He turned to look at Obi-Wan again. "Are you comfortable, padawan?"

The padawan stretched his legs out, still wrapped in the cloak. "I am, master."

"Excellent. Because..." He drew a deep breath. "I have thought for hours, and am yet to understand..."

Beside him, he sensed Obi-Wan grow still.

_"...While serenity and calmness define a Jedi, remember, Madame, that warriors need skills; skills that require accomplishment and finesse—without these, we are lost. Lost to ourselves and to others who might expect our aid..."_

"...why it was that T'shar exerted as much influence as she did, over you."

* * *

Obi-Wan bit his lips. He had been expecting this for hours already, and had prepared the answers he would give; he had anticipated the question and the censure that might follow. What he had not expected was the tone in which the question was asked, the sadness that seemed to linger in it...

_What have I done?_

He rubbed his fingers over the bridge of his nose, wishing desperately for enough control over the Force, that he would be able to reverse time and undo all the damage of the past weeks. Now that he had calmed his mind reasonably, he was much more receptive to Qui-Gon's own emotions; kept in check they might be, but they had known each other far too long to find any necessity to keep up shields for long periods of time.

He sent faint tendrils of Force now, towards the tall figure sitting beside him—even in the half-light, he could sense that the master was not relaxed...and had not been, for quite a while.

It unnerved him. More so, because he sensed not the result of uncertainty during missions—this time, the reason for the disturbance was himself. There was also the fact that Qui-Gon was _letting_ him sense it...

"Obi-Wan?"

He drew a deep breath, and pursed his lips. "Yes?"

"How many years does your apprenticeship span?"

"Ten standard years, master."

"In all these years, young one, I have made my share of mistakes—I shall not deny that." _Force, this was worse_. Obi-Wan understood the tone of the conversation, and a brief prickling of foreboding shot through him as he guessed how it would end. "On the other hand, I have always tried to be what a master must be. I have taught you—and still do teach you all I can, about what you will need to know as a Knight of the Order." He felt Qui-Gon look at him. "Hitherto, I have thought, the occasional slips and falls aside, we have managed to do rather well...particularly as far as the Force and the Code were concerned."

Obi-wan's fingers clenched themselves, before relaxing.

"I sense that your internal conflict is now considerably cleared. Correct?"

"Yes, master."

"Are you now resolved in your mind, about what a Jedi knight's duty is, and how we may best equip ourselves to carry it out?"

"Yes, master. I understand."

"I have never yet known you to lie to me, young one - it is, I have often thought, one of your more redeeming qualities." He could almost feel Qui-Gon's faint smile. "Search your mind, padawan. Think back to our...duel, and remember what it was that the Force told you. Do not be influenced by what I say, or the Council, or anyone else, for that matter. Your own heart must lead you to the answer...and I hope it has." He paused. "Tell me. What did the Force say?"

"It said that I needed to follow nothing but its voice," Obi-Wan's voice was steady. "That my duty was to serve others - and that my skills were given to me for that purpose. That if I did not feel pride and happiness in what I was destined to do, I would lose faith in my destiny...and my work will be ruined." He shook his head slightly. "I don't know - I don't know how I lost sight of it all."

"You faced a formidable opponent, padawan."

Obi-wan raised his head, at that. "I did?"

"Yes. Even so...you must have been able to defeat her arguments. You have been able to do so since an early age, padawan - analysis was one of your strong points, I recall. I'm yet to understand how T'shar managed to sway you in the manner she did."

Qui-Gon's voice grew soft—and it occurred to Obi-Wan that the master was not really confused at all, but was rather waiting to hear his explanation.

He felt Qui-Gon's fingers reach for his own, and clasp them gently. "My padawan, did my arguments about the Force, over the years, mean nothing to you? Are T'shar's theories which you've heard for a month, much more to you than what we've learnt together for almost ten standard years?"

Obi-Wan felt his breath quicken as Qui-Gon's voice sank lower, assuming a lower timbre. "Where have I erred in teaching you, Obi-Wan?"

**_(tbc...)_**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Yes, it's been too long. Yes, it won't take this long again. Yes, I've updated. :D **

* * *

**XIII**

Obi-Wan flinched. _No, no, no. Not that. **Not** that._

Qui-Gon could sense his discomfort—not only from the way the Force swirled around him, uncertainly…but also from the way the padawan's eye-brows knit together and his eyes closed, as though in pain. He extended his senses, determining again that the younger Jedi was not injured—confirming that Obi-wan was in no great physical pain.

Obi-Wan felt the probe, and in some obscure way, felt re-assured. In one way, it made things easier to explain…in another way, however, he had never felt the weight of a confession—of sorts—quite so much.

Intermittent flashes of lightning lit up the Gardens every now and then, throwing the foliage into sharp relief. Rain had begun its heavy descent moments ago spattering in thick drops all over the ground—the force of the wind had thrown some moisture into the corridor, too. Through it all, he could sense Qui-Gon sitting beside him quietly, looking out into the rain, ankles crossed, and one hand in his lap while the other covered his own.

Rarely did his master find such moments of peace—such things were luxuries not granted to Jedi, and they were taught to accept refreshment whenever they could. Qui-Gon had gone through his own share of difficulties the past month…and now, when he might be expected to acquire some rest, he would be ruining it. And there would be the inevitable repercussions to what he would have to say…

_I have put it off long enough. I cannot do so, anymore._

Resolutely, he began. "The mission to Calai…that was when it started."

To his left, he heard Qui-Gon draw a deep breath, and felt the hand that had held his, removed. "Proceed."

He bit his lip, trying to arrange his jumbled recollections in some order, and to keep away the inclination to lose himself in them. "I…was not in favour of your going alone, master."

"I was aware of it, padawan. You made it a point to tell me."

Obi-Wan lowered his head. "I always felt it too dangerous for a lone Jedi to handle—"

Qui-Gon raised his eye-brows, but did not comment.

Obi-Wan continued. "As your padawan, I knew it to be my duty to come with you."

"The Council forbade it, Obi-Wan. And they had their reasons."

Obi-Wan bit his lip. "Forgive me for saying so…but I could not agree with it."

"The Calains are contemptuous beings, padawan—this I've already explained. They have little respect even for the Jedi, and only agreed to the Senate's offers of reconciliation, because it affected their trade agreements. Theirs is a strictly hierarchical society, and the Council was of the opinion that your age would not aid us there. Instead, they thought it pertinent to send me."

"Alone." Obi-Wan's voice grew slightly sharp. "There had already been three assassination attempts on various members of the planet's negotiation party, master—one of whom was eventually killed."

Qui-Gon's voice was mild. "It isn't as though I haven't faced attempts on my life before this, padawan."

"True." Obi-Wan risked a look at the still profile beside him. "And I have been with you on each mission that involved such a situation, since…" he paused. "Can you deny that I—that I did my best in averting danger whenever possible?"

"No, young one," Qui-Gon's voice had grown softer. "I cannot deny it—nor will I deny the fact that your presence was a reassurance, at such times."

"Why then, and not now?"

"I can only offer you the Council's own explanation—it would have served no purpose. We have been on many missions where there were attempts on lives after we entered the negotiation phase—and the Force has been merciful in averting disaster of a large magnitude…here was a situation in which it had crossed the danger mark. My presence was what might be called a last-ditch effort at averting what was already a crisis situation…" his voice trailed away.

Obi-Wan swallowed, eyes glittering as he stared through the rain-covered horizon. "In other words, you were fully prepared for failure—and for death, when you set out."

"We are prepared for death whenever it should happen to overtake us, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's tone was blunt. "To others, it is a distant happening—to us, it is a way of life."

"In that case, master," Obi-Wan's voice was even. "Shouldn't you have prepared me further by insisting that the Council let me accompany you?"

Lightning flicked over the hills once more, and thunder cracked across the skies—but Obi-Wan barely heard it.

"That is the Jedi way, yes." Qui-Gon's voice was very low. "Despite my reputation, however, I do follow the Council's dictates, padawan. They insisted that your presence would not aid mediations, and I accepted."

"Because I would be a hindrance."

"Because if the worst came to worst, then I would be the only one lost…and not you."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and released a shallow breath. "They say that a Jedi must be prepared to join the Force at any time—but I sometimes think it's worse…when one waits." He threw a look at Qui-Gon from underneath his lashes. "It is one thing to be prepared to join the Force, master. It is another to know that it will almost certainly befall…befall a Jedi going into the field." He paused. "It's even worse when one is forced to stay at the Temple, knowing…that one could have _helped_."

"You did help. By obeying me, and by staying at the Temple." The master turned to the apprentice. "I was guaranteed your safety—which I would not have been, had you accompanied me. It was a great reassurance, young one."

The tone was non-committal, but Obi-Wan was attuned to all the nuances his master's voice could hold…and he did not miss the emotion that lay hidden.

He blinked. "And yet, master…knowing what I did about the Force, and about the Code—if there are such things as sith-hells, as old legends say there are—then I lived through every one of them, until you returned."

"But I did return, Obi-Wan. That was what mattered, after all." Qui-Gon had leant back, his eyes closed. His hand sought out Obi-Wan's and held it in a warm clasp. "Do not think I was unaware of your conflict. It has been more than five years since _I_ was sent on a mission without you—though you have been sent on a few, in that time." He opened his eyes briefly. "I believe you now have an idea about what it must be like, to know that one is in the field…alone."

"None of the missions I went on were doomed to spectacular disaster, master."

"But the possibility existed, padawan. As it did, for me—except that in this case, the odds of it occurring were considerably greater. One must learn to accept it, after all."

"It is not easy."

"It has never been, and it never will be." Qui-Gon stared at some point on the Scaltian horizon, his eyes focussing on something among the stars that should have been twinkling, beyond the clouds. "The Council does not insist on an emotionless state for nothing, padawan. Sometimes, it appears that it is easier, that way. But appearances are, in my experience, largely deceptive." He looked down at the stone floor, finally. "It is a hard life, Obi-Wan. In the beginning, it is chosen for us—but later, we are given the liberty of making a conscious decision to abide by it. Our rewards are rich, padawan…but the price we pay for such rewards are high. Too high. We do what we do, because we choose to make a difference…and oftentimes, such difference as we choose to bring about is the result of sacrifice." He turned to the padawan, and tilted a dimpled chin. "It would serve us well, if we were heartless…unfortunately, we require a heart to accomplish what we must. What is required, therefore, is a heart that is soft enough to melt with compassion—yet is hard as a rock when it comes to duty. That, young one, is why some Jedi are ordinary, many are good…but only a few are destined for greatness."

Obi-Wan smiled. "You are one of those."

Qui-Gon shook his head, smiling in turn. "I am yet to achieve the perfection that is insisted upon, for a true Jedi, I think. I prefer to feel and not think, and many of my ideals are questionable. That is what the Council feels, anyway. Even you, my padawan," he chuckled, "even you have found my penchant for pathetic life-forms…aggravating."

Obi-Wan's lips twisted in a broader smile. "You know the inevitable conclusion—it nearly always ends with my championing your lost causes."

"Then you will know why I left you behind, when I went to Calai—I wished to leave behind someone who would carry on the tradition." He searched the gloom, trying to look into blue-green eyes. "The galaxy is full of what are perceived and given up as lost causes, padawan, while in reality, they are not—and very few to champion them. I know of none better than you, to achieve success with them."

Obi-Wan appeared stunned. "I…know little of such things. I'm ill-qualified."

"In time, you will know enough."

Silence reigned for a few moments as rain spattered steadily ahead of them.

Obi-Wan's mind felt strangely heavy, trying to understand the import of what he heard, with what he knew he must tell his master. He cleared his throat, and the sound seemed to focus Qui-Gon's attention back to him.

"Perhaps we shall relegate lost causes to the background, for the time being," he spoke, "and discuss what happened after I left for Calai, Obi-Wan."

"Yes."

"I shall aid you, if I may. T'shar found out what you were feeling. Correct?"

Obi-Wan gave a deep sigh, and nodded. Oh, she had found out. "Yes. I was angry…forgive me." he paused, looking at Qui-Gon's face almost involuntarily. The master's eyes were distant. "And I was worried. I asked to see Master Windu about—about whether I could not join you in Calai."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Did you actually talk to Master Windu about this?"

"I apologize, master—I was clearly stepping out of bounds…but I could not help asking."

After a pause, Qui-Gon spoke. "Continue."

"He refused, citing the same reasons that you had given…and that was when he told me that I would have to accompany Archivist T'shar to Chandren. I knew that I had been told to assist her, of course, but I'd no idea it might be off-planet."

"And…?"

"Master Windu called T'shar for a briefing as he concluded his session with me—I'm afraid I had had trouble shielding well." A wave of mortification radiated from Obi-Wan; Qui-Gon sensed the padawan recognize it and attempt to dispel it.

"Was Master Windu displeased?" he asked.

Obi-Wan knit his brows, recalling the incident. "He did warn me to be mindful of my feelings—but he did not appear particularly displeased. He set me two hours of meditation in addition to my normal regimen—and he asked T'shar to oversee it, so to speak, since we would be working together for a while."

"Did he ask her to guide you into meditation?"

"No. Only that she must help, if I needed it—otherwise, I must be left to do it myself."

"I see."

_"…and I aided him to the best of my ability. While in the Temple, Master Jinn, every knight may be seen as a teacher of a padawan—your apprentice stood in need of guidance, and I gave it."_

Qui-Gon pursed his lips. "In other words, you meditated together most of the time?"

"Yes." Obi-Wan paused. "I'm afraid I didn't find the sessions fruitful…" he shook his head. "T'shar was not very pleased." He stopped and looked at Qui-Gon, trying to gauge the master's mood, and wondering if he would not be over-stepping unseen boundaries that existed regarding regulations. "I have sometimes thought…"

"That she tried to influence your thought processes?"

Obi-Wan gave a gentle sigh of relief. "She would not let me _talk_," he spoke, feeling a slight spike of irritation. "I—I'm not sure about influence, however. Surely I would have felt something as blatant as that?"

"Doubtless. In any case, I hardly think she went that far…proceed. What next?"

"There is nothing much to say. I worked on the scrolls, and we spent the weeks alternating between research and meditation and her lessons on the Code. I'm afraid…" Obi-Wan paused. "I'm afraid she did not appreciate my arguments against her theories about it."

"Only to be expected. And yet, padawan…" Qui-Gon looked up, from inspecting his hands. "…there is something else, isn't there?"

It was the padawan's turn to stare away into the still-flashing night sky. "She sensed my guilt, master."

"About your anger. Your worry. And your guilt in allowing them to surface, against all proportion."

The words came out in a rush. "I could not stop worrying…if you knew—" he stopped, trying for a measure of self-control. "There were a few days when I was left in the Temple, and before we left for Chandren…and reports kept coming in from Calai, about how desperate the situation was. I did release my emotions into the Force…but it—did not seem enough. I'm afraid T'shar more than sensed it. She was right to take me to task—a senior padawan ought not to feel so. I cannot survive as a knight if I am to allow such worries to interrupt my—"

"Proceed, please. What else?"

Obi-Wan looked for a while at Qui-Gon's profile, his heart sinking. He spent a moment in controlling what seemed to him to be rather laboured breathing. "She…offered to help me release my fears into the Force."

"And did she?"

"She gave me all the assistance she could…" Obi-Wan paused, feeling a familiar thread of confusion run through his mind. "I expect I let my emotions gain over me, for I couldn't see that they did me any good. T'shar saw my efforts—and offered to explain the Jedi philosophy to me…" he stopped. "And that, I think, is where it all started." He made no effort to elaborate what 'it' might be—there was no necessity to do so.

Qui-Gon remained silent.

Obi-Wan gathered his courage, and continued. "Now—after what happened this evening…I realize that much of what she said was…irrelevant, as far as I was concerned. Her way of life and mine are different—I see it very clearly now, and am aware that though we are both Jedi, there will always be certain areas to which she will have no access…just as I cannot expect to be an expert on the culture variations of systems in the outer Rim." He threw a look at the motionless master. "But I don't understand why she chose to do so, knowing that they could not apply to me…" he hesitated. "She is intelligent, and perceptive…surely she knew…?" He stopped, unaware of how to present facts as he saw them, without throwing T'shar into shadow. "Forgive me, master. On Chandren, I could not—I was confused…and I knew that my behaviour was unbefitting a Jedi. I tried to understand her theories…I thought, by following them, I was purging myself of the darkness within me. " He buried his head in his hands. "I see now that it has been nothing but a mistake. I should have dealt with this myself…"

He looked up at Qui-Gon, eyes suffused with a mixture of penitence and pleading. "Please forgive me—I thought I was enforcing my loyalty to you—I did _not_ perceive it as an error on your part." He moved slightly, clasping Qui-Gon's fingers in his own. "Master, please. You did not err—you never have. My own feelings led me into this—I did not know, I did not see…"

Qui-Gon turned then, recognizing the slight waver in the apprentice's voice, and swiftly placed a hand on the young man's forehead. "Padawan, there is no need to apologize."

"Yes, there is. I—you are the best teacher an apprentice could hope for, and what's this but a betrayal of what you've taught me all these years—how could I have ignored it all?" Obi-Wan's voice had risen slightly. "It was as though I were possessed…" he slumped forward. "I shall accept any punishment you see fit to give me. Behaving like a misguided _youngling_—"

"Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice rang out. "You will stop, this instant." He waited until he was sure that Obi-Wan's attention was centred on his words. "While I admit that you certainly must have released your fear and guilt into the Force…there are other factors involved."

"There are?" Obi-Wan raised incredulous eyes at that—eyes that were at once filled with hope, and confusion. "What are they?"

* * *

_**(to be concluded)**_


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV**

A gust of cool wind swept its way down the corridor, and Obi-Wan pulled the cloak around his shoulders closer, careful not to remove his eyes from Qui-Gon. "Master…?" He probed. "What were the other factors?" To him, it appeared as though a miraculous route of escape had been thrown open—and even if he did harbour some guilt, it was an avenue of release he had not considered hitherto, and found vaguely comforting.

Qui-Gon's eyes were fixed on the murky sky-line. The lines in his forehead seemed to have deepened, as though he were debating something within himself. Finally, he drew a deep breath, as if coming to a conclusion. "I believe there's something you should know, that might throw some light on what has happened. I had thought of telling you, but…" His voice trailed away.

Obi-Wan's heart sank a little, as he turned away. _How long will it take for him to trust me?_

"…I now think it would be a better idea to show you," the master finished.

Obi-Wan blinked. "Show me?"

Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "Surely you haven't forgotten all the memory-sharing techniques I taught you, padawan?"

It came to him at once, then, and Obi-Wan shook his head, trying not to appear any more of a misguided youngling than he felt. "I _do_ remember," he admitted, smiling ruefully. "I didn't connect—" he paused for a moment, and a sudden suspicion entered his mind. Abruptly, he turned towards Qui-Gon. "Have you been talking to Master Windu?" he asked. The master returned no answer. "Master Yoda, then?"

"Patience, padawan mine."

He fell silent at once, recognizing the slight amusement that laced Qui-Gon's voice; for some reason, the emotion he felt buoyed him—and he felt relieved. "Yes, master."

"Very well, then." Qui-Gon placed a hand on Obi-Wan's forehead; his forefinger exerted a slight pressure on the tiny crease that existed in between the padawan's eye-brows. "We'll begin when you're ready."

Obi-Wan nodded his assent, and proceeded to engage in series of relaxation techniques that had the effect of stilling his mind in a gradual process. He had been coached in them rigorously by Qui-Gon himself; for there had been many occasions in which speech could not be relied upon—the mind, and only the mind could be used. It was not as easy as it usually was—he had to work on relegating his confusion and weariness to other, more secure areas of his mind, as he was sure Qui-Gon was doing. Nevertheless, it had been done before, and it could be done now. He visualized his thoughts departing into the wide world outside, cleared any residual debris, waited to see if his mind was prepared and ready for an increase in the presence of that which already occupied a corner of his mind.

In a rare moment of stillness during which even the rainstorm seemed to have dwindled to an expectant hush, his mind slipped into tranquillity. Physical touch may or may not aid such techniques for others—he had found that his concentration improved if it was used. In time, the need for it would disappear; for now, it was necessary. It chagrined him, of course, that Qui-Gon needed no such nudging from the outside to achieve what he wished. He sat silent for a moment, wondering about when _he_ would achieve such mastery—and then resolutely banished the last, wandering thought.

"I'm ready, master."

"Good. Proceed."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath as he shut out the sounds from outside, felt the warm touch on his forehead; concentrated on the small pin-prick of light that shone in the centre, and reached an 'arm' towards it.

A tendril of light came forward to meet him. One tendril became two, two became four, and four suddenly blossomed into a large, glowing cluster of light. He felt vaguely uneasy, for entering another's mind— regardless of however welcomed he was—had been taught as a violation of the strictest privacy; to indulge in it for no reason whatsoever would bring a heap of retribution on his head. Qui-Gon made the journey easier by flooding his mind with re-assurance. A prickly feeling assailed him—this procedure was slightly more complicated than the usual, plain image transfers that were easier to accomplish. _Qui-Gon must have more on his mind_, he thought wryly. Exactly what this was, he would know soon.

As always, stepping into Qui-Gon's mind was a peculiar feeling—he ought to be used to it by now, yet, it was something akin to one's first plunge into cool water, after a day's work in the hot sun. The tendrils of light blossomed into a shadowy cavern of soft, muted colours—green, a deep blue, and a pin-point of muted white…but mostly green. Almost at once, he felt his master's presence fill the dimensions.

/_Obi-Wan?_/

/_Here._/ He looked around, taking his time to assimilate what was, in essence, the core of his master's being. It was soothing, peaceful…and completely silent. He waited, guiltily chasing an errant thought away.

/_Are you ready?_/

/_Yes._/

/_Very well._/

Without exactly being aware of what it was he should be watching, he focussed his attention all around him, and was aware of a faint picture forming in front of his eyes. The picture coalesced into something more recognizable—the edges grew clearer, the form took shape…and resolved into that of Archivist T'shar.

Almost involuntarily, he let surprise seep into their connection. /_T'shar? You were speaking to T'shar?_/

/_Yes. I had to._/

T'shar's image seemed frozen, weaving rather uncertainly in his mind's eye. /_When?_/

/_A few hours ago—while you were sleeping._/

Obi-Wan gave the mental equivalent of a nod; abruptly, the vaguely queasy anticipation in his heart spiked. /_Please continue._/

T'shar's image unfroze, and he could see that she was speaking. She appeared to be looking up at him from her smaller height—and he realized that he was now watching through Qui-Gon's eyes—_of course, she's shorter than him._

Muffled sounds reached him—he frowned, sharpening his concentration, and the sounds became clear at once, as the picture completed itself.

_T'shar._ She was exactly as he had last seen her—stringy hair wound tightly into a modest bun at the back of her head, face drawn and serious, hands folded into the long sleeves of her robe and violet eyes glinting with a strange fervour. In contrast, the other features of her face were completely immobile. Her manner, now that he was seeing her after a brief interval, seemed strangely like an animated droid.

"…_I cannot think I erred, here—after all, in the absence of the master, an apprentice can be taught by other knights in the Temple._"

"_That rule…_" Qui-Gon's voice? Yes, he recognized the baritone—it was not a voice that could be ignored; yet, it felt strange, as he heard it within the confines of the master's mind. "_That rule, Madame, holds good for other masters in the Temple. You, as far I'm aware of, are still a knight._"

"_Master Windu wished me to aid Kenobi, as and when the situation required._" T'shar paused. "_And really, Master Jinn, your padawan required as much assistance as he could get._" A subtle shift in her tone indicated what, Obi-Wan realised with a start, was faint contempt. The picture flickered; the colours around Obi-Wan swirled strangely, and he noted that they were now assuming red and orange tones—Qui-Gon himself was still striving to bring his own emotions into control—and was trying to avoid Obi-Wan from being influenced by them. Almost unconsciously he sent out a beam of comfort, and felt the faint amusement radiating from the master as the latter acknowledged it. Obi-Wan felt a gentle nudge towards the picture, and turned to it.

"_Your padawan, master Jinn,_" T'shar's voice was as clear and sharp as he remembered it and she laid particular stress on the first word, "_was exhibiting a lack of control that must not exist in one in his position. If he has gone on as many missions with you as his record indicates, and has achieved a level of competence that must accompany such an accomplishment, surely his control must be impeccable?_" She paused again. "_Under those circumstances, his emotional state would have affected our own mission—I could not risk that._" Obi-Wan aligned thoughts that threatened to flutter out of his control, and forced himself into a semblance of calm. _She's right._

"_You give no weight to the fact that he might have been in a state of apprehension, Madame? Senior padawan he might be, but he is not yet a master—it would not be fair to assume that level of expertise from him._" The colours had assumed a greenish tone again—and Obi-Wan banished a streak of guilt that had almost spun out of control.

"_Our padawans—_" Our padawans? "—_are early taught that to feel emotion, particularly while undertaking field-work, as you do, is a grave risk, Master Jinn. That is the foundation of the Code…_"

"_And you believe that Obi-Wan has transgressed it._"

"_While I will not go so far as to say that it was a punishable error,_" Her voice grated on his senses. "_It is obvious that he holds certain theories which need…correcting. Surely he cannot be allowed to think that feeling so much would aid in accomplishing mission objectives. I shudder to think of the danger he will be subjecting others to._" Obi-Wan watched, aghast.

"_Considering your limited experience, Madame, I wonder how you can possibly be a judge of what my padawan is, or isn't capable of._"

"_While I admit that I have not known him for years, Master Jinn, I have had the opportunity of seeing many like him—I am the Archivist, and I am aware of many missions undertaken, the Jedi who are sent on such missions, and what exactly these missions entail._"

"_To know about the specifications of a mission is very different from actually going on one._"

"_I am aware of the practical difficulties, I believe. That does not excuse the fact that Jedi are required to maintain a balance that will guarantee the success of the assignments they undertake._"

"_In other words, you insist that my padawan must lay aside his instincts, the voice that tells him to proceed every step of the way, ignore my teachings…and assume the attitude of an unemotional battle droid._"

"_You misunderstand me. That was not my intention—I accept that Jedi must necessarily improvise during situations that require it._"

"_A fine concession, Madame._" Obi-Wan could sense the thread of amused indignation that laced Qui-Gon's voice, and marvelled the master's control. "_The more I speak with you, the more is it apparent to me that you have little idea of what it is to truly engage in active combat with opponents, and to meet unforeseen complications half-way through an assignment. If you are as knowledgeable as you say, you are, Madame,_" T'shar jerked up her head quickly at the hint of sarcasm. "_You would know that to achieve success in our tasks, field-operatives such as my padawan require to be completely aware of their emotions…and to feel them. It is essential in our line of work._" He paused, his tone one of gentle understanding. "_Needless to say, I do not expect you to be aware of this fact._"

For the first time in the conversation, T'shar's impeccable self-control appeared to slip. "_I am aware of your teachings, Master Jinn, and that you are an exponent of the Living Force, and of your ideas on this subject. Padawan Kenobi's forte is not the Living Force, as you are doubtless aware of._" Somehow, the sarcasm she attempted this time did not quite carry the same effect. "_The level of emotion he felt on your leaving for Calai was, I felt, unacceptable. Such is not for us, who strive to be in full possession of our faculties at all times._"

Qui-Gon's voice seemed to mellow, if anything—Obi-Wan, attuned as he was to the subtleties of the master's voice, perked up his ears. "_Indeed, Madame. I have been aware of it for some time now…and the sentiment was gratifying, to say the least._" Gratifying? Qui-Gon was gratified? "_I would have been disconcerted in the extreme, had he reined in his emotions and become a wooden wall ornament, in my absence. His emotions are what define him—and though I agree with you that they must not go to extremes…I am quite sure that your efforts to aid him produced the opposite effect._"

A surprised silence from T'shar was the immediate effect of this statement. Qui-Gon took his time, and then continued. "_In fact, Madame, I'm quite sure that your efforts to help him were not productive at all—because you did **not** wish it to be._"

To Obi-Wan's eyes—eyes that now saw her as another sentient being, rather than an intelligent Jedi—the cracks in composure were becoming obvious. "_Master Jinn,_" she protested. "_I assure you that I intended nothing of that kind. I sincerely wished to help him…it is not fair on your part to lay such allegations against me._"

"_Was it fair on your part, then, to imply that my teachings were inadequate? Did Obi-Wan ever give you cause to think my handling of his apprenticeship was not quite up to par, and that he required assistance from you?_"

A pause. "_No._"

"_Yet, you proceeded to take matters into your hands. You decided that you could do a better job that one who has been in the way of handling padawans for as many years as your existence._" Qui-Gon threw a hand as he saw T'shar open her mouth. "_You will **not** speak to me of Xanatos, Madame._" His voice was low, and laced with a warning. "_You are not, I am sure, aware of all the circumstances pertaining to his training—and besides, the one I trained before him, and the one I am training after him, should serve as examples of my success with apprentices, should you ever feel a doubt in my skills._"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling faintly overwhelmed. T'shar's eyes had left Qui-Gon's, and were glancing at some point above his head. "_I…have never implied that your skills were inadequate. I merely wished to render assistance…_" Her voice trailed away.

"_Did you, now?_" Qui-Gon's voice was gentle—too gentle. "_Was yours a sincere wish to render assistance…or an intent to hurt one who possessed all that you did not…and could not?_"

T'shar's eyes flew up. "_Pardon?_"

"_I have learnt something of your…turbulent history, for want of a better word. It was only fair on my part, I think, in trying to ease my befuddled apprentice, who seemed to have undergone injury, rather than any good, at your hands._" Qui-Gon paused. "_Tell me…was your training not interrupted a year after you had begun it under Master Shante, and were you not transferred to the Archives…at the request of your then master?_"

T'shar returned no answer.

"_At that time, it was recorded that it was your own sincere wish, to begin apprenticeship as an Archivist…_"

"_It was Master Shante's wish that I do so._" T'shar's voice was unnaturally sharp. "_He was wise beyond his years, and saw that I was much suited for what I am doing now, rather than run around the galaxy..._"

"_Saving lives. Wielding a sabre. Negotiating, mediating, and bringing peace to those who wish it._" This time, Qui-Gon's voice was genuinely gentle. "_He did you an ill-turn, did he not? He forced his teachings into you, made you think that your passion for the life of a field operative was a terrible mistake…that your zeal and impatience had to be curbed into other, less effective areas. I have also seen your records under your sabre-master, during your days as an initiate—there was no reason why you could not have continued to train as a field-operative._" Another pause. "_He made you feel inadequate…and unworthy._"

T'shar pressed a white knuckle to her lips, and averted her head. "_I am sure that Master Shante was well aware of my true talents._"

"_I'm sure he was._" Something in Qui-Gon's voice made her look up. "_What's done has been done…but that was no excuse to infuse your uneasiness into my apprentice. You are of an age and experience, I daresay, to understand the effect of our own unsettled feelings upon those younger to yourself—there was no justification in what you did to Obi-Wan. You forgot your place, in your misguided attempts to **teach** him._"

T'shar's eyes rose with what seemed to be genuine outrage. "_I did not injure him…! I did not **seek** to…_" She stopped.

"_Perhaps it was not a conscious decision? Neverthless, your theories are extremely distorted, convoluted…and are more likely to be injurious to those who trust you implicitly. It occurs to me, Madame, that it is you who stand in need of…instruction._"

"_They—I cannot…I cannot think my ideals were wrong, Master Jinn._"

"_Are they not? Be so kind as to tell me why, if you are so very capable an instructor, the Council has persistently disregarded your requests to take a padawan? You have wished to take one for the past two years…and your petitions have been rejected—yet I, whose theories you disapprove of, have been urged to take an apprentice repeatedly. Why?_"

T'shar voice appeared to tremble. "_I…do not know. The Council perhaps feels that more time will have to pass._"

"_The Council is wise, Madame. They have refused you…because they are aware of your disproportionate thoughts and ideals. You are not ready—and you will not be, for a while yet. To allow you to take an apprentice now would end in disaster—larger in extent, for whomever you should choose as padawan. The Jedi Code goes much deeper than mere words, Madame. To presume to understand it fully after a few years within closed walls indicates a mind that is ill-prepared…and incapable of teaching others about it._"

The woman in front of him still retained all outwards appearances of dignity—but her eyes indicated the shock she had sustained. "_Does…the Council truly think so?_" Obi-Wan noticed that she did not oppose Qui-Gon's knowledge of the Council's decision…even she, it seemed, valued the weight his opinions carried, within the Temple.

"_You will soon receive a formal request from the Council to hold forth on your opinions…I'm sure they will be interested in knowing what your well-ordered mind has managed to accumulate, in the past years._" This time, Qui-Gon's voice was dry in the extreme—and a faint crease appeared between T'shar disconcerted violet eyes. "_You see, Archivist T'shar…I may have earned a reputation is one who frequently argues against the Council—but my instincts often prove to be correct, in the long run. My methods may be unorthodox…but they are not likely to injure anyone. Those whose business it is to know such things, do so._" T'shar's fists were clenched. "_You will find it difficult, I daresay, to continue as you have done once your session with them is ended._"

T'shar opened her mouth, and then closed it, as though re-thinking her decision. Qui-Gon looked down at her a long moment. "_I have more news for you._"

Her voice was so low that it was near impossible to hear it. "_Yes?_"

"_The Seula'anians, you will be happy to know, have agreed to negotiate with the Jedi, on more flexible terms. I may as well tell you that they did so, after witnessing an exhibition of light-sabre duelling between myself and my apprentice, this evening._" Qui-Gon's voice seemed to swell with barely concealed contentment. "_Premier Akat'ai was kind enough to inform me that they had stalled efforts towards reconciliation for so long…fearing that the Jedi were a group of mere speakers, spouting high-flown ideals, and incapable of defending them, when it came to that. The Seula'anians are a warrior-race, you see. They appreciate valour in others, as they do among themselves. Obi-Wan's superior performance this evening finally…tipped the scales in our favour, so to speak._" He paused, eyes taking in the final, and complete defeat in T'shar's eyes. "_I may as well add that he is far more able in that art than others his age…and that his obvious delight and pride in his skill impressed them. Such a one, they believe, will do more for them than one who indulges in long speeches. I do not belittle the efforts of those who were in charge of the mission…merely that diplomacy, precision, and a desire to appear as a stone-faced negotiator will not always help. We are Jedi, and we are required to seek solutions in situations where others cannot. We are given skills that are to be appreciated, and which are not to be denied. Those who cannot think and act with presence of mind, Madame, are soon relegated to…closed confines._"

The implication in his words was difficult to miss, and T'shar's face bloomed a fiery red, as she averted her face, blinking.

For a long moment they stayed thus; Qui-Gon looking down at her bent head, while T'shar remained passive, her face far too white against the background. The master was waiting, Obi-Wan could tell.

"_If I have hurt Padawan Kenobi, then it was inadvertent, and with no intention to do so._" She spoke, finally. "_I...apologize._" She hesitated, pursing her lips. "_Assure him—assure him that his destiny is much kinder than mine._" She looked right into Qui-Gon's eyes, then. "_I did not acknowledge it then…but I think I do, now._"

Qui-Gon nodded.

For the first time during the conversation, a smile—a very slight smile edged T'shar's lips. "_I have no predilection for indulging in strange whims and fancies, Master Jinn. But I think I may trust the Force when it indicates…_" She paused. "…_when it indicates a greater destiny for him than what is perceived. And that you will aid him in accomplishing it._"

"_True._" It was far more than what the master had expected, and Qui-Gon knew when he had achieved what he had set out to achieve. His voice was strangely gentle as he signalled the end of the conversation. "_May the Force be with you, young one._"

She bowed to him, then, and looked up at him through glazed eyes. "_And with you, Master._"

The picture in front of Obi-Wan's eyes glittered, and disintegrated into nothing—he felt his connection within his master's mind grow fainter. The light within eased him back into the confines of his own mind…and he slid out of the trance, feeling disoriented, and slightly dizzy. He weaved uncertainly as he tried to get his bearings, and felt Qui-Gon's hands steady him against his shoulder.

Outside, the rain had stopped.

Silence enveloped them for long moments, stretching out into a companionable blanket, as master and padawan looked out into the night sky, and the steadily dispersing clouds.

It was Obi-Wan who broke the silence, first. "I'm still having difficulty believing that you managed to accomplish beginning the negotiation process with the Seula'anians," he spoke.

Qui-Gon smiled. "My...instincts told me that they would be amenable to an exhibition of martial arts - since earlier diplomatic sessions had failed; the Senate was speaking about 'cultural differences' - and knowing their own inclinations... " His voice trailed away. "I wondered if this might not be a solution. I acted on a hunch, so to speak. And it paid off." he looked at the padawan. "That was more an after-thought, however. My primary focus, padawan, was on...other issues."

Obi-Wan felt a brief thread of pride course through him, and bent his head. "And..." he spoke up. "T'shar?"

Qui-Gon's voice was even. "I guessed her motivations…and they were confirmed when I spoke to Master Yoda."

"So you _have_ been speaking to him."

He sensed, rather than saw Qui-Gon smile. "Yes."

"She's accomplished, Master. Intelligent, knowledgeable…and in a position of considerable authority." His question was evident.

"She saw you as the possessor of all that she might have had, padawan. To know that one has been taught wrongly, and to finally see the ideal of one's own heart, enjoying his peers' approval….that can be a crushing experience."

_How true_. "Was that the only reason?"

"T'shar is a walking bundle of contradictions, I imagine. On the one hand, she was forced to interpret the Code word for word, and taught to deny all that she naturally felt—she took those teachings to heart, and managed to make something out of it. And then she met you—you, as she thinks, the embodiment of all the things she had been taught to deny."

Obi-Wan bit his lip. "I should have controlled my feelings."

"That, yes. That was not the only reason, however."

The padawan gazed down at his hands, almost invisible in the gloom. "She sensed my guilt…" he paused. "And through my guilt—"

"And through your guilt, the strength of your affection. Another luxury that she had lacked, and had yearned for, in her youth. The guiding hand of a mentor who truly understood."

Obi-Wan was silent for a few moments. "I never believed the time would come when I would actually…pity her."

"It would appear that she deserves none, at first glance…but she does, yes. T'shar's failing lies in her knowledge, and her image, as she sees herself, as the perfect, ideal Jedi."

"That ideal is now in ruins, I think." He spoke in a low voice. "I imagine that would be the worst punishment she can suffer."

"There is nothing so galling to a 'perfect' being, than the sudden awareness that there is no such thing, after all." Qui-Gon shifted. "Not all of that justifies her attitude towards you, padawan. I suppose she did try to keep her feelings to herself…" The master paused. "The discomfort you felt was doubtless the echo of her own confusion." He turned to look down at the padawan. "A valuable lesson, padawan mine."

Obi-Wan smiled, albeit with difficulty. "To me; to be aware of my surroundings all the time. " He sighed. "I had hoped I would be at ease in the Temple, master."

"Our real enemies, padawan, are not the ones that are obvious—with weapons at our throat, trying to strangle us outright. Sometimes…they are the ones you do not perceive easily. They stand by your side, and you are lulled into thinking that they mean no harm. And then there is the truly dangerous enemy—the one who is certain of his or her own goodness. The road to a sith-hell, as you so wisely said this afternoon, is paved with good intentions."

The master's voice took on a strange note, and his eyes were unfocussed, though he were seeing something far away. "Beware, padawan mine. Beware of those who say that they seek justice, and peace…be very very careful of those who speak without a pause of the 'better things in life'. You will learn that they're invariably the ones who mean the most mischief. The ones who speak of bringing 'justice and peace' to anyone and anything, who are so very certain that they are absolutely right. They are words that will lull anyone into false security…and when the truth is known, it will be too late."

Obi-Wan's voice was equally quiet, and tinged with a certain awe. "Why would they seek me, Master? Why should I be careful, more than anyone else?"

"Because, my young padawan learner, you are skilled in arts that they will wish to covet. And you already possess that which they will always wish to own—but never can."

Obi-Wan frowned slightly, aware of a niggling twinge in the back of his mind that indicated that he held the key to the riddle, but was unable to find the means of using it. "The Force?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "In time, you will know what I speak of."

"You're beginning to sound like Master Yoda."

"I'm now beginning to feel as old as he is." Qui-Gon chuckled, as he placed a hand on the padawan's head, and tweaked the tiny nerf-tail that Obi-Wan had begun to affect, of late—and he was well aware of why exactly that nerf-tail had come into existence. "You are growing too, padawan."

Obi-Wan suddenly felt bone-weary. "No, I'm not. How am I going to accomplish what you say I must? How am I going to feel, yet not allow my feelings to dictate my actions?" he turned to Qui-Gon. "_How?_"

Qui-Gon stood up, suddenly. "Get up."

Obi-Wan rose obediently. "Why? Are we returning to our quarters?"

"Not yet. I merely wish to show you something."

"_Again_?" Obi-Wan smiled as he walked with Qui-Gon, who had stepped down the corridor's breadth, and was now ankle deep in the lush grass that lined the corridor.

Above them, the clouds had scudded away, leaving behind a dark-blue velvety sky…with a strange light pervading it.

They walked along the grass, barefoot, and stopped before a large pond—a natural phenomenon at first glance, but whose sculpted edges showed a human touch. Large, pale flowers floated in it, among wide, flat leaves as huge as dining plates. Qui-Gon bent and scooped a large leaf off, shaking it slightly as water dripped from it.

"Look at this leaf, young one. Watch the water droplets on it. They slide along the surface…yet they do not stick to the leaf—they leave no trace of their existence, as they slide off it."

Obi-Wan watched, fascinated. He had come across such leaves before, and had always marvelled at their silky texture, and the beautiful rose-tinted flowers that bloomed with a sweet fragrance.

"The ideal Jedi is supposed to resemble this leaf, padawan. To feel, yet not let his feelings affect his actions. To know what emotions are, yet to able to deflect their onslaught, and do what is required, in any given situation. To feel, experience…and then release it. Completely, as though it had never occurred in the first place."

Qui-Gon had taught him this lesson, before…yet, it seemed that it was now more poignant than other, previous experiences.

"There is even a kata that signifies the path of a Jedi, travelling along life, using this leaf as an example—and who ultimately achieves his goal," Qui-Gon murmured. "It isn't taught until the padawan reaches the last stage of his apprenticeship—most don't understand the flow of it even then. It is a long, arduous process…many Jedi spend a life-time, trying to learn it. "

"It is…" Obi-Wan bit his lips. "It's a complicated lesson."

"The best lessons are always the hardest."

Above them, the sky began to lighten.

Obi-Wan edged closer to the master, his feet squelching in the grass, and feeling pleasantly ticklish. Strangely, he didn't feel quite so cold anymore. "Master?"

"Yes, padawan?" Qui-Gon was still looking at the leaf, admiring its softness, and watching the water droplets running along it as though he were a child suddenly presented with a new, fascinating toy.

Obi-Wan waited a moment, watching his master's attention focussed intently on the leaf. Warmth spread in his heart—a glow of affection that he had no wish to dispel, at the moment.

Abruptly, he raised a hand to Qui-Gon's brow. It felt cool, though slightly damp. "Are _you_ all right?" he asked. "All this…I can only imagine how tired you must be. " He shook his head. "On top of your mission to Calai…to be aggravated like this…"

The master roused himself, and looked down at the padawan; Obi-Wan saw the eyes twinkling. "Your concern is gratifying, young one." He paused. "Aggravating you might be, but I will bear it with all the strength of a Jedi."

Obi-Wan's lips twitched as he looked into the midnight blue eyes, gleaming with suppressed laughter. "I shall be as aggravating as I can be, then," he answered, smiling. Then, his voice lost its flippant tone. "May I ask you something?"

"Since we've spent the night trading questions, one or two more will hardly matter. Ask away."

Obi-Wan touched the leaf in Qui-Gon's hands gently. "Have _you_…learnt the lesson of the leaf?"

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Master Yoda would have plenty to say if he heard my answer…but I can speak only the truth. I too, am still trying, Obi-Wan."

Obi-wan averted his face, staring at the shadowy clumps of bushes and trees that flanked a path-way to his left. His voice was nonchalant. "Tell me, please…why did you leave me behind, when you left for Calai?"

Qui-Gon looked at the top of the ginger-haired head that barely reached his shoulders, an enigmatic expression on his face. "I shall only tell you what I heard from a—from a man I once rescued from an attempt at…taking away his own life. It was on _Dentai V_, I remember, and I was a newly minted knight. I encountered him on my way off-planet…he had suffered greatly, I could see. I asked him what had driven him to such an extreme step…" The master turned away. "He replied that he had suffered great loss in his family—his father a year ago, his son recently, in an accident. And while he had been able to bear his father's loss fairly well…his only son's death left him with no will to live."

Obi-Wan stood still. Qui-Gon's voice reached him as though from far away. "I believe his exact words were… _'It is difficult for a child to bear the loss of a parent…but it is far, far worse for a parent, to bear the loss of a child.'_ "

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat; he turned, to feel his chin tilted up—and smiled. "Still a way from learning the lesson of the leaf, I see," he said, blinking as he spoke.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "It will take a long time," he said, and paused. "I'm rather glad of that."

They stood there for a while, lost in thought, mind pleasantly caught up in each other's words.

"It'll be light in a few minutes," Obi-Wan spoke suddenly, brushing a hand across his face as he did so. "Good Force…how the time's flown. He turned towards Qui-Gon, whose eyes, he saw for the first time, were rather blood-shot. "What do you think we ought to do, now?"

"An early start to a day never hurt anyone—even if said day is going to be spent in relaxation," murmured the master. "I propose we start…now."

He grabbed Obi-Wan's hand, and before the surprised padawan could protest, had flung him into the pool. Water splashed out, almost drenching Qui-Gon in the process. The master stepped back nimbly.

"Master…!" came an agonized shriek as the water was thrashed wildly. "Water's cold…_unfair_!"

"Life is never fair or unfair, padawan mine," remarked the master tranquilly. "It merely is." He had barely finished when a wall of Force-powered water rose at him, and engulfed him in a smothering wave.

"Lectures when the sun isn't even up I will _not_ tolerate."

"Insolent _wretch_…!"

Dawn finally broke over the heavens.

**THE END

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**A/N**: Thanks to all those who faithfully followed my updates – as irregular as they were. It was a joy writing it. If you liked this one, I hope you'll like the others I've written too. 


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